up to somewhere, spacious
with narrow exits
we know, enough is too much.
but, go on. however many
too many made the pundits chicken out
as some of our more
intelligent elders advise--fear
of gain, fear of loss, fear of not
enough of either,
fear of no change.
mending a heart, describing it,
what are they?
you almost don't wonder just
recognize alterity'll swerve some.
mending it, describing how it went
about its messages, spent a small bird's
nearly and more, it hasn't been
a kind of day. it is difficult,
indeed, to control oneself.