Thursday, April 7, 2022


Some things are so right 
that they just aren't 

some commandments, so innate, 
there's no need 
to hand them down.

Such unique breeds of fact
are twisted up tight 

and borne along inside 
like tiny strands 
of DNA;

they may wait years, 
or even decades

to unfurl their truth 
and replicate 

while you sleep—
and dream 
of a scene, almost deathlike, 

in which even the motes 
of dust are frozen 

in a narrow beam of light 
from a source 
you can't name—

and then wake 
to the littlest nag 
of an ache 

which, you now know,
will one day balloon
to a pain 

so great
that, at long last, it
exonerates your life.