11/8/21: "I know you don't want to hear from me, but I am selfish"

Perhaps a little lonely, too.

There is nothing quite like ping pong,
a kid made of mischief and wayward grins clicking the flashlight:

on. and off. and on and off and on.

And then staring into an abyss,
falling into the habit of trusting there will always be
another lighthouse flashing back.

Kismet. There is a witty romance in the word,
a feather light kiss and a "well met" that's stuck in your cheek.
I wish, I wish, I wish I could have my pick
of grapes on the trellis, or fruit from the orchard.

And yet, a part of me knows not to waste my Angel numbers
and lucky dimes on things that could bring me to my knees.

See, that's for selfish prayers at night. Wondering what love is,
what God is, what I am. No matter how far I go, home is the heart
in this breast, the breath in this chest.

My mom says I best well not forget it,
even as I will feel sorry for it, most days.

I will wonder if people love the moon more than the sun,
even if I know I do not.

Because the suns in the sky, the stars, even they must
want to be heard, to travel so far.

I am not bold enough to say they are envious,
but wouldn't it be something if everyone realized
even the stars get lonely too.

The fires all go cold, and all feel It creeping in
sometimes. Still they burn.