asking or playing God;

Ports and portholes and the holy port wine.

Part of my view hidden in sight:

looking forward.  Meanwhile, I’m finding

my own retrograde incomplete, mixed

within the light: looking forward. 

Am I, or are we, beginning a foundation like

cold hands stacking hard stone?

What should I build?

I’ll build eternity if it means you stay this time.

If it means me asking or playing God, certainly,

I’ll build it all, or help.  Whatever it intends to

be.

­

And here you are in a flower bed, teaching

me how to grow, if and however tall.

It feels like a second: my tall stalks shown.

­

I’ve been stuck on the same page, and oh how

I’ve had friends take the easy way out.

How easy can it be?

Never easy, and especially never easy being.

A sigh toward that.

A sigh in a direction.

­

I have someone and I think I love them.

Am I capable?

It feels like a misdemeanor.  It feels like poison.

I love it.

But AM. I. CAPABLE?