Sunday, September 5, 2010


Your taking my hand was a risk.
What change did you imagine?
Let's make story together. Later, a
story, if we make enough story itself,
on the way to the story.

That is the hard part,
my dear friend and lover:
we commit the sin of evaluation
and reevaluation on the subject
of safety, mostly during our aimless
internet-filled hours, clicking
and checking in on each minute.
There's where our anxiety
is, isn't it? But what if this

instead was the frightening part, as
I think it is - the risk
is in how good the story is,
whether the narrative's worth
the telling, of whether
it can tell itself,

whether the twists and turns
will drag us through deserts
or up crazily into the very hearts of thunderstorms,
or whether it will rain on our garden.

There's no safety in the icy clouds;
it's light-socket-love up there, for sure.
The risk is not whether or no there's no return,
but if you'll try to endure the weather
instead of hiding at home
when those thunderheads come.

No comments:

Post a Comment