The sum total of all we are
I will ask myself the same—Am I better for having
written this? Call it what you will, a poem, a moment
in time when I was and was not who you think I am.
If we imagine together that we are the sum total
of all we are and can never be, then we will see
worlds pass between slats of drawn blinds pulled
along walls without windows no eye can peer through.
Small sorrows seek the day, run like brooks through
high country meadows, perfectly etched in traces
scouted by unseen skyfingers as if they led somewhere
we might set out to find ourselves willing to go.
Are you better for having read this? I cannot tell you.
Am I better for having written this? I cannot say. Let
us then pass as water between places we might imagine
it has never been, say that world passing by our window.
August 15, 2012