We make our way, a thousand days
of dreams; we turn pillars of parking
garages into fortress walls, and kingdoms walked
wearily, we tread to our cars.
Eventually, we thought it would make sense
as violets do, sprouting heads above the dirt. We thought
each ray of sun is for someone blue
and each moment of blue is to remind us of solitude, to
take our hand and sit us down for a talk, like our mothers
used to do.
But we have been reprimanded for changes, for calling names
and praying, we were blamed for the wrongs we made,
but even right things lead into corners and squares
like boxes and papers cut in halfway planes. I am fully immersed
in the world, but can never quite fathom its shape.