You’re counting up years you’ve yet to live
as a way to hollow out spaces
before their span is run
to tangle under the sleep you carry
as if a root ignored
will not grow in the night
and shadow you all day long
why not live as if the only knowing
were the one yet to have arrived
as if the gift were waiting
for that place
where your scarred light rivers out
where there is only you to carry.
