I imagine a long cold hundred year wait, where every exterior signs point so confidently in every direction, I would be willing to lose my range of sight from coast to coast, as long as it is under the clean plate of love. With a clear view of the final scene in my small role in a major life. Sometimes ad libbing and freelancing my nurturing and care for worthless currency, but I can see what is true and what is real, both the beautiful and the ugly are priceless. It is a simple slipping into a designated space that completes the puzzle.
Julia Manuel on Poem #4 ingridfalconi on Poem #4 Julia Manuel on Poem #4