And he felt the air reopen, and the pain was glad


on an incredibly clear day
my petty self-centered wounds
dissolved like butter

and I discovered a great secret
what may well be the great mystery
the kind you wish you had known

when you suffered worse
I saw that there is no
desire truly worth pursing

for these gratifications are like
echoes of lack in our chest
the burning of freedom in our chest

our drama is moreover, inconsequential
to the greater dilemmas of the species
and to the plight, no less

of the less fortunate
for one is not loved as one is born, necessarily
but it may happen that one is

lucky or unlucky, and it’s not better
to be one or the other
but to have our share of both

and to suffer is as natural
as baking bread or walking through dew
and I hope it doesn’t take

an especially clear day
to realize the obvious once again
though knowing me, and how

tiny my love is, I may have to
remind myself many moons from now
why the bright sunlight heals.

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