At home
my aimless mind
writes poemless lines.
Homeless under
trees or sky,
my lines take aim
to fly.

Thursday, January 21, 2021

Sorrow is the only thing

Sorrow is the only thing
that does not thin when spread.
It doesn't disperse in coffee.
It doesn't dilute in drink.

Sorrow is the only thing
that has gravity but
no sure footing,
truth but no freedom,
solemnity without dignity.

Sorrow holds space
but no breathing room.

It is blinding dark,
a keening silence,
a mute wail.

Sorrow is the only thing
it's better to receive than give.

The only burden not lightened
by sharing.

Sorrow is the only thing
in which even together,
we are the only one.