July 19, 2021
Frustration is a tool to the maker,
the one that fakes the itch,
that fools the storm on the horizon.
Attempted suicides are manners
of meditation on the will, and while the one
that loses concentration dies
like ice on the barrel,
another feels the difference
between pain and infinity.
Sorrow is the last thing I dream about,
the first thing I have forgotten...
the last piece that fell out
from my opening hands...
the first chunk that disappeared
into the water.
Jealousy is a crack in the self,
a lack of complete
trust in the sky.
Anger is impatience with the forest
as it grows through forever, and I flicker
in and out of shade, shadow and sunbeam.
Love is all of these,
the moon rising after the sun has fled,