Friday, November 11, 2022


Our beliefs are not 
the crystals 
we would think; 

they don't accrete slow  
until they're sharp, hard,
and beautiful. 

Rather, they 
are bubbles—

mysterious dirigibles 
borne by the wind 

and birthed from breaths 
which we blow 
though magic wands, 

in the sun and streaked 
with magic colors—

but none of them 
built to withstand 
the mildest altitudes 

or suffer the slightest 
external pressure—

and which bequeath 
at their deaths quick 
felicitous pops 

built to make a child laugh
and then flee
from its memory.