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NaPoWriMo 2016

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thursday's poem

this poem is for the poets at the santa cruz word church, thanks for the words you write, and that in such a place, there is space for me.
when i was fifteen i was in no danger was never going to yearn was never going to be lost except in the sweet way a puppy can be bewildered when you pretend to throw the tennis ball when i was nineteen i got myself into some trouble some difficulty brought about because i didn't understand how to create beauty from the things that i wanted to say with the words inside me that i kept hidden i am fifty-five years old i have earned at least some of this grey stumbling and searching for a way to be free not the freedom of free falling meteorites which feel no shame but are definitely to blame just the normal freedom of a living creature free to breathe, to burn to rise to walk as if this was the world i was meant to live in what this grey and all my years have taught me is not much not the wise answer making meaning from all my mistakes not the righteous anger fueled by some triumph over injustice just this small thing my fingers held this far apart this precise interval the universal constant the distance between me and the most shocking acts of selfishness you could imagine and also the distance between me and something beautiful enough for tears pinned between these two mirrored walls i see nothing but myself and seek nothing but the poems that make enough light to turn the walls transparent revealing the worlds hidden behind them