I reach

I touch you,

soft skin delight.

I cannot imagine otherwise.

I want to watch you and cherish you,

love your smile, reactive and giddy.

I imagine a world in your eyes,

and realize only,

you need

my love.

Why rage?

how do we defend

the actions of reactive passion

beyond the scope, a child

with pleading eyes

wonders how now,

why this?

Falling timber

solid in a careen

tramples the brush

only to leave scars in soil

the natural course of small earth.

A tree doesn’t compare

line up or speak

to the soft flesh

in a switch of

terror.

We cannot judge, we may silently grieve,

yet in the moment, we do know our rage.