Walking on softer ground

Tell us,
where do we find you
if not at the horizon,
pushing the sky back so others can breathe?

Why not?

How heavy can your name be,
how heavy the gavel, the eyes on you?
Is it the kind of weight
that ruptures through the skin,
tearing lips and branding bones?

What’s the measure of your worry?
Does it span from streetlight to streetlight
on unsafe side streets, where your body is yours
but still you need to hurry?

Does it taste like the sand
they force you to die kissing
at their feet?

We seek you.
Understand the urgency.

So where    do   we find you?

On the way home,
safely at the brim of quarter century,
asking if you’ve built on what was given
and if the kiss was arbitrary.


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