One Second, Please

Count back from three

And I’ll be alright but

I suddenly sharply need

To convince myself

That I haven’t lived too long


Somehow Conceivable

This love isn’t fate;
It’s prophecy with an agent,
Conscious creation, origins traceable,
Clear in your smile that lights up my eyes
Even when we’re not facing each other


There are lessons like the alphabet,
People like handwriting,
Memories like speech

It makes sense for them to matter;
So much sense, I rarely think of them

And sometimes there’s the lesson
In a memory of a person
That’s important for no reason,

Like a paper done last-minute
For a class I never cared about
That counts as half my grade