I am the art you begin to create
only after a few decades of trial an error.

The dichotomy of a petal light landing of my lips
on sleeping cheeks or foreheads
then the fury of inarticulate madness
they can spit still confuses me.

I love many things
that I fear I don't
save enough time for.

This is living.

It is a heavy and brimming
cornucopia of blooms,
books, berries,
bills to be paid,

my arms are shaking
and I'm not ready
to put it down.