The Blue Book

Be Again

To feel inside suffering another kind of love,
that is all.

Everything I’ve said about blue dreams,
about roots and roadtrips,
branches, leaves and brave verbs,
galaxies, gateways, and gardens,
late at night in the turbulent flow of life,
all of it aimed at this simple thing
strangely perched between
trivial and impossible.

Everything can be derived from nothing,
all that is needed is one.

One thing willing to bear the weight
of this creation’s image and,
under its burden,
still find freedom.

For that is just
another way of saying love
and feeling something else,
some deal struck by a suffering heart
filled with a longing to be again,