i.
a dream of mine once
held hands with me;
he asked: "if you had a
hundred tongues and
a hundred mouths––
what wisdom would
you feed me til' I was
plenty full?"

ii.
and as i stood, waist deep
in whatever was leftover
of myself; i answered sadly:
"we often forget lesson
number one:
broken instruments
often preach broken
sounds; and it is not
always up to us to
fix them."

iii.
and that's how we stayed;
together, enjoying the meal
of my wisdom until my dream
whispered in my ear: "you know,
you could always forgive yourself."
"i know," i smiled soft, staring
beyond what the stars could offer.
"but there is simply nothing left
to forgive."