Why do we
put so much
faith
in explanation
even though,
like the wind
through the trees,
we can hear
others groan
and creak as it rushes,
and we can see
from the looks
in their faces
how quickly
it
dissipates?
*
At best, our speeches
trickle out little
prickles
of heat
like the friction
gradually
realized between
those raggedy actions
we took
in the past
and the reams
of their consequences,
which have yet
to materialize.
