it’s always a later
seems we want to cry
rivers flow to an eventual rise
where all of our dreams lie.
We haven’t figured out
how some words might be callous
while others have a natural heal.
Timing seems a phenomena,
for if right now,
we cannot imagine an outcome,
the tears, the rivers, the natural process,
seems ready to cleanse.
We wind ourselves around legacy,
trying to build,
asking to frame,
when then we suddenly realize
our dreams are shadowed in fantasy.
When crossing the white lines,
I often wished
to be taken away, without freedom
I became edgy,
just able to make it back to the curb.
I would dance for you
at this moment,
if what I come to realize later in life,
could offer sweet immediacy.