breath, turned out upon a
closed little world, can
dance and maybe some
thing i've known forever is
dawning
and/or has dawned, upon
my churning little world:

left in dust, sleeping for
a majority of the season,
some
days little more than
manifestation of the
meaninglessness of
life. monolithic guilt.
ever-full of empty.

but, others, i see you
in everything, dripping from
facets (have i said this before?
is this nothing new? i hope so),
see your eyes in strangers, not
so bright, but looming, still;
heave breath and smile and
know, somehow, we've been
tied together in this mess, and
that maybe life isn't devoid
of reason, or that it may still
be, and it doesn't matter.