Cards
.oh-eight

Such a small and fragile creature he is when
seeing and breathing within a big life-
It makes me feel much older than what I am with
the years spread out before me like cards,
vacantly staring into their faces I wonder:
“They are mine?”

This is the first thunder in little ears and
he thoughtlessly believes in that noise.
It is an increasingly silly thing I feel as
small green things arise from black soil-
To meet the Sun through glass, instinctually
reaching for a sky that isn’t

reaching back.