When did we learn to be
so afraid? Who is weeping
into a pillow that covers
the mouth and nostrils?
Is this the heart
that struggles to dream
or survival instinct?
Practicing loss, we learn
to dream, to love,
to become lasting.
This life is not measured
by sadness alone but by
its precarious imagining.
1 comment:
'to become lasting'
'precarious imagining'
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