M. Hank

It’s morning in Paris, 

and the city still sleeps, 

though the sun has long risen 

and the cat has long been stretched in the light 

that washes over the quiet courtyard. 

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been deeply immersed in the digital world. My life has been a constant stream of online consumption, whether for academic purposes or purely for personal enjoyment.

Why can the wind

Be blowing

That piece of grass down

One moment

And not the next?

There’s a scientific answer

I bet

And usually that’s what I’m looking for.

But it felt poetic that way,

Dragon wandered through the forest,

Smiling at his bouquet

Full of bluebells and daisies,

But sighed as he remembered

It was forever incomplete.

My whole life I have been trying to tell a story so beautiful that the world would fall in love with me.

That is why I befriended words and stage lights.

That is why I watch the details of the world

Remember the girl?

She’s in second grade,

Maybe

Blond brown curls

Blue green eyes.

She’s sitting on the top metal pole of the fence

Chipped green paint