In No Other Life

hands

In other lives despair is less simple
dampening the earth
with the wisdom of uncertainty
hunger sits at an empty table
waiting for the doors to open
into a great room where each secret life
turns into a galaxy of grass
and a child waits, learning to open her hand

Littered and loitering, other lives
hide among abandoned things
wearing wintery eyes
and the coats of scarecrows
their fierce intolerance
grinds handfuls of dust
into landscapes
that are not theirs

I believe we leave behind
what is inherited
touching each moment of life
before it’s forgotten
like a dream at the moment
of waking