And finally 
I hear
my own 
heart beat
and I
think that 
I remember 
the first 
when promise
beat too

Like a boy
on a bike
I have climbed 
yet another hill
and I wait
looking around looking 
down looking over 
and out from 
up here before 
I go pedaling 
and soon too
my feet like 
my hair are
set free it’s 
I and wind
and that’s all 

I am jar
empty of things
absent of purpose 
but am I 
or rather might 
jar be jar
and the space 
occupied by others 
is not purpose 
but occasional pleasure 
being empty and 
holding that hollow 
space as hallowed 
enough for me 

Though snow 
falls and 
wind dances
words avoid 
staying at
arms length 
like promises
of love 
and in
this igloo 
of quiet 
I huddle 
teeth chattering 
chatting none
not page 
nor book
a day
for soup 

When you do 
something you love 
or whom or
where then you 
become someone whom 
you didn’t expect 
and the same 
holds true whenever 
you do not