poem

 Versions

In one version of events 

I sold what I could and gave

The rest away in exchange 

For one single moment

Of absolute clarity.

Then I found a clearing

In the woods 

Where I set up camp

And waited for it 

And waited for it 

To never come.

In the other version 

I locked it all away

In a secret drawer

And swallowed the key.

Every night I’d tug

On the handle 

To make sure it was safe.

In the fake version

I had lost my faith

And started to wear

A crown of qualms 

That pressed new sulci 

Deep in the folds of mind

In my version 

I tiptoe around the edges

Of an infinite series

Of abyssal trenches

Without either falling 

Into the dark fathoms 

Nor rising to the surface

To breathe 

9/20/26