When there was none

Facing up to face myself

in the low point

amidst the waves of homelessness, lack of

wind in the single sail. Moving is grace.

Morning dance is unimaginable now,

and that’s just so

embarrassing

when even my limbs break; slowly

the salty taste of toil turns into the norm

and that’s just so

disappointing

when the birds soar and photosynthesis

creates sweet life I crawl backwards into

the periphery of constant longing, sense of losing, believing that I might have missed the signs, missed the turn,

but that’s just

bullshit.

I will have been here to live it all

the highs and the lows, all the love and

when there was none.