(For Joana)
There are young
hearts that don’t resist.
Eyes wide open to come-what-may, a sprightly
blue vestige of a world before the end
of innocence. But there is so much more,
so much that doesn´t fit into closets or
schema, so much to spring the coils, or burst
even the most carefully sewn garments -
the ones made painstakingly, one hand stitch at a time-
at the seams. There are boats that navigate
past the end of a flat horizon.
And some of the kindred who depart too early
just so the rest, the ones who are left
here holding down the fort, can remember
what keeps us
Eyes wide open to come-what-may, a sprightly
blue vestige of a world before the end
of innocence. But there is so much more,
so much that doesn´t fit into closets or
schema, so much to spring the coils, or burst
even the most carefully sewn garments -
the ones made painstakingly, one hand stitch at a time-
at the seams. There are boats that navigate
past the end of a flat horizon.
And some of the kindred who depart too early
just so the rest, the ones who are left
here holding down the fort, can remember
what keeps us
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