What was important then
empties into bleakness as we relax now,
savoring moments inside skin;
dropping defenses if we are lucky,
losing the act if we are smart
so that others may access our heart.
What is it about the young,
pushing against, away –
only to discover those crowded to perimeters
are needed most in times of self loathing;
of grief and trembling and fear?
Culture to culture, we are the same –
running yellow under the surface where,
like animals, we strike out and retreat,
licking perceived wounds.
Clouds part and shift, planets repel and attract,
universes expand and implode
while the smallness of human drama continues
thrusting and parrying; hunching
into a sea of weakness inside bodies constructed
too frailly for posturing emotions.