I feel stupid for contributing nothing
for departing unduly, for starting
with gumption and promise, then deserting
what I had promised we would compose
like dust settling and rock eroding
the undoing of an action is just as effective as
sweeping it under the rug and calling it history
class. Read an old letter one day and feel
the flooding sunlight on your back
repeating those words you once knew by heart:
the psalms have a way of never leaving your bones
and the desert will coat you like a second skin.
I relate to finches building nests with broken twigs
but birds do not question, birds do not beg.