Day 377: Arranged
∴
so if love is not to be trusted,
and hate is just cliche,
and arrangements made
are only as good
as arrangements kept,
what,
soul of mine,
are we to do?
⋅
arrangements.
they keep re-arranging
as in them we live,
though we try
and try
not to live
too much,
lest we dangerously disrupt
the necessary balancing of weight –
we are vased flowers
and starved of the wind –
⋅
in a wide world of strangers
to whom i’m just as strange,
is there a comfort
to be had?
is there?
and where?
show me
the vase-less field
to whom i belong,
and whose root cries out
for this displaced stem.
∴
