“Maybe we are cups of water from the same sea. Sometimes you still feel lonely.”

Some nights I sleep so deeply I cease to exist. My belongings, as well, unravel. 
Picture the ocean poured endlessly over the ocean, et cetera. Then erased;  Still the morning comes & I’m there, half awake & holding my coffee in the doorway.

The Impossible Ladder

The elegant plan, the simple inarticulate hope
the incessant dusting, the uncovering that hovers here
the unremarkable rungs of the impossible ladder
that you think of these things at all.
The cups that are clean, then filled, then cleaned
the nowhere fear, the terror of arrival
the sad spaces in front & above, the sap of happiness
the matter-of-fact alleyways
the proper thing to do or say at the wrong time & place
that you think of these things at all.
The honest beggar, the blinding white lie of language
the stubborn smokestacks & on-ramps, the dull ache of static
the bored understanding of traffic patterns
the unspent plea, the common cold openings
the nature of torn pockets, the multidimensional smile
that you think of these things at all.

Good exists. Bad exists. There is some disagreement which is which.