I’m sure there is more to life than curiosity.
The yellow line of morning changes
the architecture of each day
into a bridge of sighs.
The rejoicing birds
confirm there is always more if I look
with certainty from the drawing-us-in day.
The world is watery and elusive when touched —
what remains can be emptiness or filling.
I like to hold objects,
feel their textures like braille — like dirt
after a dry spell sifts and fragments.
I call this “touch starved.”
I call this “building the bulk of senses.”
I call this “a bridge where we can meet
in the middle to talk in a common language.”
Meanwhile, my hands busy themselves
in a “making-songs” day, touching the elusive
blue aura around a person’s head.
Photo by Shota MIMA, used and adapted under CC.
