Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
We may not deserve it
        but we were given sight and blood
        and soft organs that we know to protect

We may not grasp it
        but we were given faith and song
        and the urge to dance because we tremble

We could not measure it
        but we were given miles for our feet
        and a horizon orienting us headlong

So on this night of
        hemlocks alive with cicada
        moons engulfed in hot orange
        hands seeking each other
        and bite marks
        and hip bones
        breath
        stubble
        and time escaping in astronomical units

Who are we to ask its meaning
with the very words we could
never fully know?

— The End —