The small indicators of life;

hidden in the mist,
benevolence—
as seen in the
messy
fingerprints.

Giggles unveiled,
in a momentary glance—
as the glass is fogged,
a smile,
is caught by chance.

A small indicator of life;
minuscule,
if you will,
but even still—
love is found,
in corner-seat windowsills!

I was yesterday
for sure
I'm today
in doubtful evolution -
tomorrow?
I don't know
all else is
pure speculation

This is the heart
of the matter:
reason will not save me-
only humour

the former confuses
the latter is that which nourishes:
life has many a dimension
reason is to humour subservient

We built
a tower
with hands
that did not know
how to touch.

It rose,
stone by stone.
Each word, a brick.
Each silence,
the mortar.
Promises—
vanishing into air.

We stood
at the bottom,
blaming the height
for our aches—
but the tower
was never
what broke us.

I'm a leader
  with only one follower-
  who's the latter
  but the one I see in the mirror?