As we are:

Quixote would stand
Surveying the span and depth of the drop.
Pick up a stone, throw it nowhere near
The other side reaching.

Check for bridges and fallen trees, none.
A good tail wind to aid a heroic leap, none.
A rope, and a team of horses
That could pull his side a bit closer to hers

For a year, for one hundred
He would walk his edge from one end to the other
Only to turn away, realizing
That fate and windmills are unrelenting

And hope is only a word
Written by a fool without choice or an exit.

I feel you in the nuts and bolts of me

And if you want to be mechanical about it
You leave the very hinges of my soul undone
Come in

No one ever said a sweet word to me
Without a knife to my spine soon to follow
No one has woke the ghost of my mother
I asked her, “Mother, can you see that light across Peck’s Beach, to the North?”

No one owns light
And it cannot be contained by any set of four walls or three
You see, if I wanted another piece of property
In the form of a pretty face
I’d have traded my mind again
For the spoils of another less-than-honorable war

And her name would be…
What use be a name for that type of woman?

At this point in my life, what name could evoke anything?
Other than yours, the one that I want to sing

I scaled a bridge the other day
What a lofty bridge it was,
Like something you might have dreamed up

Atop I saw a sun so bright,
So piercing
I could not look away

To say it reminded me of you would be no truer
Than all those pretty faces,
You my dear are less harsh than that blistering orb

But to be sure,
I wanted you next to me
all the while that I burned in the sun.