Our hands splay toward some 
Hazy & far-flung happiness 
& we cleave open for some fragile 
Non-evil, no matter how brief: 
To touch, 
To meet, 
To human 
Again; a scatter of non-particular 
Wonders to be revisited. 
All these unutterable blessings we forfeited- 
Hugs, hope, heart- 
Finally beloved by all & belittled by none. 
It will take a whole fleet 
Of words to return. 
* * * 
Then comes the thrust of our throats: 
There is no more revenge 
We shall boast, no matter 
How heavily bladed in our fingers.
Change is made of choices, 
& choices are made of character. 
Cling to whatever brings us to begin, 
Even if it is formless as foam. 
We keep hoping 
For no reason at all. 
For every reason we share.


It is loss, as well as logic, 
When we cry: 
May those laid to rest never leave us,
         But lead us to rise. 
We lived.
& that was more than we asked for. 
We, too, must howl ourselves ablaze.
* * * 
We write 
Because you might listen. 
We write because 
We are lost
& lonely,
& you, like us, 
Are looking
& learning.