Once, I know I
didn't weigh pounds
but ounces,
and before that,
not ounces, but eye-gleams,
mere appearances, notions.
Just like
one day, I will cease
to weigh atoms,
and instead comprise actions,
sentiments, burdens.
Which is why,
in between, I shall
set down on paper
that it did not matter
what I chose
to believe—
the ardent
or the flammable,
the glistening
or the sepulchral,
the terrorists
or their witnesses,
the hemoglobin or
the chlorophyll—
so long
as I only strove,
before the
ink ran out forever,
to lift and kiss all
that is furious, as if weightless—
and forgive.
