They gather among the grains and I wonder
if to them there is a difference
between others and me
As if I too acknowledge their distinctions
or ascribe more than a single identity,
forgetting the principles of symbiosis
The irregular harmony of the movements
is familiar and important
and what brings us here
And by the end even though
I may fling nothing but air,
they shall come for the spreading
While I, selfish and helpless,
shall continue and not notice
the angry flutter of wings
I knew more
than I know now
No…wait…
I still know as many
but I think of none
I have embraced this familiar ailment
unconsciously even though I remember
how it was before
Without it I was fun and
appealing and wanted in
the midst of all activity and
flamboyant and present always in
the minds of my friends and
full of vigour and life and
desires that I shared and was privy to and
open and honest but
never myself
The little boy smears across it
Older hands waving and grappling
But never together or when so
Too strong and vehement
Here and gone and here
The rhythms are very personal
And different and cherished
The tallest aren’t the fairest or the wisest
They belong in separate frames
Only arched ivory borders for them
Something’s amiss
The little boy is too quick and too young
He invites me but I cannot abandon this
If I were empty
or obvious
It would be easier
to float
and hold sway
Your presence
“A perfect day marred with sudden clouds
That streak across and linger
Not long enough for recognition
Coming and departing at will”
Is that what you meant, I ask him
But now his back stoops and eyes dim
The shadow enslaves him for a bit
Leaving him dazed and bitter
While I suppress my smile
A True Sentence 