The Lines Never Cross

I watched the water drip from broken tiles, from
an empty life, from
places where the lines never crossed, where
the horizon met the sky.


I saw the fear in their eyes, from
distant miles, from
places where I am afraid to feel, to


I felt the rough justice of nature, of
letting sins run free and getting caught and
paying the high price of


I saw and I felt and I watched and I
knew that I was apart, separate in
together in sadness
complete only in the sense that things are a set;


I heard the heartbeat of a child, and
made the mistake of
wondering what to


I smelled the deep anger of a waiting world, waiting
on my own incompetence, on
my inability to join, to pair, to
create one


I cried and cried alone but an aloneness born
of DNA, of need, of
contracting…receding… despair


I heard, I smelled and I cried and
the lines never cross, the
horizon continues to hold steadfast
to the
of the sky.




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