Friday, November 13, 2020


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.