Thursday, January 12, 2023


Approaching life's 
midpoint, you more or less think 
you get it: 

not everything that shines reflects 
the guileless light 
of purpose;

and most of the things 
you can fit 
in your hands

were not placed there 
expressly for you to use 
to your benefit. 

But still, you find it difficult 
to prevent yourself 
from believing  

that the moon 
(which sometimes looks simply 
delicious from down here)

is the ripe fruit 
of heaven's prize 
infinity tree, 

hung in plain view 
for you to pluck 
with your fingers—or that 

the fathomless pain 
whose full textures and tastes 
were lost on you way back when

will someday
come back with its 
hat in its hand, 

as if it owes you an apology
for helping most of this
make sense.