Sunday, July 18, 2021

like an old-fashioned riddle

I tally ego on the rosary of my body
count the worry beads of desire
sum my abacus of need

my small silence inside your eternity
my sky inside your horizon
is watching us recede

as I exchange thoughts for doubts
I wonder if you can hear them;
I think you'd concede 

that you pull me along, in undertow--
not caring for my suffering--
until you have me freed

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