no one has ever
climbed a mountain;
they have only
lifted one foot after
they have only
lifted one foot after
lowering the other—
The implications of this fact
are both trifling and
far-reaching:
every hard thing
is made of easy pieces,
just like
to jumble up these scraps
like the flotsam
in a pattern just unique enough
over and over—
until their desperation
until their desperation
lessened.
The implications of this fact
are both trifling and
far-reaching:
every hard thing
is made of easy pieces,
just like
every large fear
is the sum of smaller misses;
and every night,
is the sum of smaller misses;
and every night,
sleep comes
to jumble up these scraps
like the flotsam
in a snow globe,
just so they can
just so they can
settle back down again
the very next morning
in a pattern just unique enough
from the one we found
delight in last time—
delight in last time—
it's a slightly aestheticized
third-party situation
third-party situation
that, when safely under
glass, we come to know
glass, we come to know
as The Human Condition.
