What is it that impels us to know
in so many words,
that we are no different.
Not conspiracy theories,
and certainly scared of the
pulsing and inevitable
common experience.

It awaits us, I suppose,
in every crevice and
all but anything we shirk
in disgust and anguish—
Because it is only struggle
braved alone that brings
a new day of knowing
that everything is part of
something solitary and stoic.

Fortunately, our giggles
never fail to fill the gaps,
pulling each other closer and
closer and there are no more reflections,
only impossibly identical blurs.