He says “I feel like I have a new lease on life,”
And I wonder what his interest rate is.
The disease didn’t claim him,
And I wonder what he claimed on his taxes.

Today, he’s getting married,
the nation’s capitol a backdrop for the improbable,
the Washington monument a middle finger to statistics,
for who can quantify felt experience?

I don’t know what our ancestors felt,
I know only the words they left us,
the turmoil we invented in the gaps between the words,
the simple spaces we stretched into abysses.

The opening of wounds,
the decay of healing.
I don’t know where I am in this
void where prohibited.

I turn back to him,
and he has a face I’ve never seen,
orbited by the dissolution of objects,
grounded by his own emergence.

I thought I had never been blind,
so what is this that only now feels like sight?
There’s a recognition in this moment,
but this moment isn’t real.

I named it,
and it departed.
I don’t know where I am in this
safety not guaranteed.

I searched for answers,
but in him I didn’t need any.
I asked no questions,
and with him I couldn’t feel any.

I crossed into another;
I let myself go;
I was for the first time;
I was without time.

A clearing appeared,
and into it I passed,
I met myself there,
a child I once knew.

He said he had always been there,
stopped somewhere waiting.
I held his hand, melted into that space
between us.

An eternal child re-leased me,
And I wonder
And I wonder
And I wonder

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