for doused campfires.
When I can’t remember how I got
to the middle, I start over.
When I walk by the cemetery
I stare straight ahead. Do I have
a pure heart? It doesn’t matter.
My love of opposites got me this far—
clouds and dirt. They both carry the past,
but clouds do it in a way
that makes me want to follow.
Today my favorite words are glove and live.
Gloves are meant for breathing hands,
for keeping the world at bay. Look at me
on the assembly line, keeping all the parts
straight. The hem of my coat is singed,
but I sing anyway. I haven’t failed at being human,
if being human means breaking
what you mended and mending it again.
I don’t imagine I’ll be carried up
into the sky. Someone will walk
over me. On the soles of someone’s sneakers,
I’ll see the world again. I’ll love it a little harder.