March 18

smile like a secret— I wonder what you knew. was every hand against you and every book a gift? who knows. who knew. i wonder.

March 17

stones in my heart—they used to be milk teeth, lost when i was younger and carefree. i’m weighing down my heart. i’m running out of bite.

March 16

the darkness dropped again every second stronger like the raindrops coming, down and down and down. the world is cold and noisy. the night is full of shine.

March 15

the darkness like an ocean the building like an island made of light, and swimming one second forward at a time. when day broke the world came in all around the quiet waiting, and we became anew the moving tide.

March 14

a sentimental pragmatist sets the circle square, conceives of things as useful when beloved.

March 13

for one more day the world extends, and one more keystone builds. there’s too much to learn quickly, too much to learn it all— but this can be retained. one precious something new.

March 12

the knowledge came so slowly. it’s strange to have it all at once. i felt ignorant and will again— and yet. and yet. and yet.

March 11

i ration scraps of spring like a starving man— there’s an end of this. i know it. the world will let me lighten, enter warmth.

March 10

the sound of birdsong off of water. things i forget that i remember— the past comes up to haunt me on the bridge.

March 9

everything’s in bloom again. is this what light should be like? the sky is gray and drizzling and the flowers soak it up, and we remember: right. the rain’s a gift.

March 8

change will come. we’ll all of us become something new to meet it. we knew the world of some last second over and over again.

March 7

what a world we live in, what a life we’ve made. i haven’t finished dreaming of the ones that used to be— i think that’s all that lasts, you know, the dreams of what once was.

March 6

there’s music somewhere in the world tonight. it’s just not here. the night is turning on and breaking down— this place is wrapped in silence still dreaming of a song.

March 5

the time goes by. the birds remember dawn is coming back. they tell each other so. one thinks he’s calling up the dawn.

March 4

the things i’ve left too late to fix can wait a little longer. my hands are busy building, mixed up with making something new.

March 3

the universe may grant me grace despite where i have been. despite who i’ve become. despite the part within me that’s given into cringing— these days I just want to be left alone.

March 2

i don’t know enough yet to make sense of it all— i know there may be naught left to make sense of— i know there’s a world for each mind that sees it. i know that my eyes wish to see more.