to be both large
and small
enough to contain
all the rubble
life rains.
Not merely full
of old sour grapes
and salt—and pelted,
too, with hailstones
of the intricate
and sweet—
we are also
each fated to somehow
catch and hold
negativity,
absence, subtraction,
and loss. Indeed,
we're so built
from strange debits
and gains,
it's impossible
to measure the size
of our souls—
which why
we must caucus,
regale, and compare:
without consultation
from sisters
and brothers,
we cannot know
our radii—we lose
all sense of scale.
