I can see poetry in today’s darkness and nothing in the stars tomorrow. my own inconsistency: a rare constant upon which I can count, anchored to the ocean floor as every tide turns.
the other night I dreamt I climbed a mountain amidst a crowd of strangers. the steps led up into the clouds and I was nervous, because I knew I’d see you at the top. you were the main attraction, sitting in a pen like an exotic animal at the zoo. you towered over the crowd without even standing, your head alone bigger than any statue I’d ever seen. I hid behind strangers and wished they would leave us alone together. but I was scared to see you and something woke me up. I didn’t get to hear your voice or know if you remembered me. but it was a dream and I woke to another day of how things are.
I continue. every night I drink tea and find a little comfort in this ritual through which I am not alone but one of many seeking warmth from the cup in my hands. I wash and dry and wonder if you miss me too.
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