Acer Sacharrum

It lives in cupped hands

Around sorry ears,

Behind closed mouths shut up tight,

A wrench in the steel factory gears.

A hidden prism refracting light,

Shining through the cracks in firmly pressed fingers.

When the rain fell, a world grew, and something vacant turned green.

As the world grew, its people loved, and something grew in them.

When the people loved, the people lost, and the world grew again.

“And those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music.” 
— Friedrich Nietzsche

I saw someone

In the airport. 

My copy of Frankenstein sits on my lap, the old pages glad to finally be read. I began it at the end of eighth grade, and yet I am only a few chapters in now.

Sometimes there is so much to love 

that it hurts. 

Like a hole, waiting to be emptied as it's being filled. 

That preemptive pain; anticipation of loss.