Everything

the stubborn cold has its songs, though summer's are more coveted. the sun presses the clouds, but the rain still falls. either way, we remain powerless.

the walls are four. more or less. the roof is hot with kittens and streetcars. we wait. for the dialogue to come. instead the curtain closes.

we're not actors, though we do pretend. this isn't theater, though we have roles to play. time's harsh spotlight illuminates our isolation. as we struggle against the weight of context.

love tapers like a candle. allowing the flame to grow. letting it consume us.

we are flesh. ripe with bridges. we are choice. overcome by storm. we measure. we count. we calculate. still  the equations refuse to balance.