Sincerely a soaring sore.

In essence, I want to apologize for time.
I want to tell you everything is alright,
and I
am not lonely anymore.

I want to keep the empty walks
the air freezing on my tongue
the sentence I cannot speak
the ideas that walk beneath my feet.
In the past.

Starting from the end
beginning with love
last-

ing.

Telling the truth is a new thing,
and I welcome it with the grace that a foreigner has with a language.
Pronouncing it all wrong
saying the verbs before the dative.

It has a nice ring
to it.
Un native.


I am happy that I have known your life.

To be apart
of
your smile again.

Watch you part
with your strife.

I want to talk with you for hours.

Savor the sweet and sour.

But
if
I
am honest with myself.

I know that
I
am
not
the one

who plants the flowers


I simply
do not
belong
in this time.

I cannot
be
a
human
mime.

I am
the seed of a tree
that will grow slowly

an unknown purpose.

"For you I unfolded all of the words
and all of them were lacking."
all of them were nervous

The deepest
selfish part of me
wishes that mind could wander the paths it has
countless nights
when I spoke with my bedsheets
about the things I think.
I know.

I ran along the concrete
path
sure
of your words.
Uncertain of the limbs that
assemble
and show.


When suddenly you appear

Is there a world there
underneath what we see
small

my words fail. winter to
Fall.

I have spoken them all ready
to myself.
spoken them all

Is that
a closed door?
Or merely
an open

moore.


Can a wood
paved over
still grow
in the cracks?

Can a life that is
lived
still love
what it lacks?