because I have always sought stories
grasping the myriad threads with tiny
cribdeath fists
I remember their tastes but
particularly the shapes they rove in
I could weave a tale with my eyes closed
with my heart closed
and it would sound like everything else
I swear, nature doesn’t get too creative
you’ll be fooled if you don’t pay attention
you’ll think each life is a masterpiece of invention but
they all speak the same colors
the same lines
that live and unwind on and on and on and—
into infinity
I remember every taletwist or fablefurl and
sometimes I just wish things had been
a little different
sometimes I just wish things will be
a little
different