Friday, March 7, 2025

BY COMPARISON

Everything that's coming 
had to come from 
something 

that itself was once 
very close 
to nothing. 

What would it be like 
to be that first thing—

parentless 
and humble, 

uncalled 
by another, and yet 

suddenly all 
at once, there 
to discover 

the nuts 
and bolts of loving, 

the long and short 
of leaving?

*

Ashes to ashes,
dust to dust, 

and in between, 
oneness (read: 

aloneness) 
with experience. 

*

It's good, now
that things are beginning 
to stir all around me—

shadows 
of dull bulbs, flickers 
of birds' wings—

that way, I don't 
have to be 
the one to sing;

I can be silent 
and still 
more profoundly.