Soldier
Pointed at a civilian
Thief
Pointed at an opportunity
Politician
Pointed at a population
Idol
Pointed at a religion
"It's just what they do."
Such is the way we are
We retreat to fiction
Now we are just as ridiculous
Living in lies
Adorned with jewels

Silly things they are—
companions at best,
and true friends, even better.

Mine is the brown kind,
with smoldering eyes
and a folly for snacks,
scolding the trees late at night,
awakening me to
his fierce, warrior ways
every time a loud engine brays.

I wish to keep you forever and ever,
every moment—
you and me, together.

But ten years is a long while
for a dog like you.
I guess I'm just grateful
that happiness
is all you ever knew.

I love the crinkle,
The edges of humanity,
The way people
Refuse to be pressed smooth.

Some are loud,
Some blaze bright,
Their lives spilling past margins,
Smearing ink in cursive loops.

They will not lie flat,
Not be tamed,
Not bound spine-to-spine
In books of uniform lives.

I love the crinkle,
The jagged edges,
The pagelessness of humanity.

We begin moving in the womb,
then take our first small steps—
falling, rising,
dreaming of being a ballerina.

Tiny hops become spins and leaps,
feet in five positions.

Art made perfect:
toes and heels aligned,
grace in every motion.

On stage, a ballerina shines—
a grand motion in 3 movements,
queen of the dance.

I wept.

On a golden, sunlit day
I bought daffodils on a cornerstand in the big city.
I drifted through the field, light as a cloud,
And now I stand among endless blooms—
A life so radiant, so beautiful.