you wonder who’s watching all these feelings
trillions of eyes glued and scrap-booked
sometimes you wonder if you’re the cup
or the spinning water, or the tea leaves.
you want to grab suffering by its weary shoulders, by its bus transfer, by its untied boots, by its exit wound, by its cinder-block cell. you want to grab the bloodied lovers, the shattered families, the eons of regret, and to tell them they are ok. sometimes you wonder if you could ever be that creative. you heard once that a dry-erase marker can erase a permanent marker. it should be impossible. but sharpie can be undone under one little condition: you have to draw over it first. sometimes you wonder if the world is the sharpie and if you’re supposed to be the dry erase marker and then you feel bad about yourself.
sometimes you wonder who’s spinning that dust in the air
floating freckling waiting to settle
sometimes you wonder if you’re the dust
or the air, or the nap.