I wrote Perry a letter about fear. I said
do you feel safe? I do and do not.
The feeling of time's passage touches me.
Loneliness can make crossing the bridge
such a wrench.
A marine layer obscured the usual view
of nameless hills and their bounty.
All was almost well, and probably well,
but how I hurt, deep in the hope chest.
How I hurt like a tired echo, and the
fabric of my future sometimes
seems shot with today's cringing
(Though what is in a failure but
a bunch of vowels any way, and a sense
of veracity probably misplaced.)
Perry says our sadnesses reveal us,
but cannot be borne alone, like water
from the well.
Well well well. My sadnesses reveal
a heart as big as anything at all.
The world knows
my heart is
as big as a sun.