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and when
did i last write a poem
for the curiosity
of shaping words
towards a given end?
it is always a flailing
attempt to pull
myself from the hole
i have fallen into the hole
of the moment of despair.
and if life is just
what we see it as
which can only be true:
when did i chose fear
over wonder?
i have met bewilderment
as the unweaving
of that decision:
to stand in awe
and gaze at transience.
i dream of being
pursued but am not afraid
of capture, i feel light,
i linger on the street
corner with beauty.
the strawberries are ripening
in their rows.
and i too,
am turning red
and round with summer.