Meaning is entirely
subjective in a
world where
some
starve &
others *******
& someone,
somewhere,
breaks an iPhone.

How do I find unanimity
in the midst of spectrums,
ranges, & degrees in which
one
falls?

Who is like me?
Who is like you?

God.

God is the shapes
on my ceiling.
He is the sliver of light
filtered through my window.

God is the thirty-inch space
between roof & fallen branch.
He is the kiss of dew drops
& the breeze on my neck.

God is the flame
of discipline.
He is the declaration
of saddened exile.

God is goosebumps
that proclaim "I hear you!"
He is the rise &
the fall of empires.

God is the sky
which engulfs all
in loving despair.

Is it you--
are you the rain
that my children
dance in?
Are you the
harvester of long
grains and seeds
that the lone bird
feeds on?

To know you
is to know for an
eternity.
It is you,
the hand of death,
the whisperer of
rustling motions,
who knows of both
the grandest scope
and of who I am
in my smallest ways.

The world will not stop
spinning for me,
not ever.
The birds will not be
mute for me,
not a chance.

The only thing that will
stop for me
is a heartbeat--
for I am too
small of an amazement
for the traffic,
the rain.

Though, I do not
expect the world to
cease in the moment of
my passing,
my mysterious disappearance.
(an empty body,
an empty shell).

Being a part of this
world means being
disposable.

Knowing you means that
I wish I could love you more,
perhaps differently.

Knowing you means that
I will finally know loss.

I will not cease to pause for you.