The air itself is tender
when I offer myself
to the tenuous moment,
a nest of softness in the rainy
daylight.  I do not know
how to be the person I am
becoming, but I want to find
meaning in the deliberate punctuation
of your sighs, in the dead fluttering
of wings, in the undercurrent
of something missing. To find
that the bigger moments
are incidental.  To find
that my biggest regret
is living my days as regrettable.