A response to the query that every mid 20’s, semi-adult habitually avoids

He told me, if I was an artist,
you’d be my muse.
I smiled, blushed, and said thank you.
Later he asked me:
“What are you doing here?” I answered: “I like the city,
so I came.”
Then he asked, “What’s your dream? If you could do anything,
what would it be?”
And I confessed, I don’t know.

The question what do you want
still evades me. Because the answer, for me
has no concrete object.
It has lines & shapes, colors and images…
Details, but no whole.
I know
that I like words, and toying with their construction.
I like poetry
because of the way poems inhabit the space of a moment, freeing that moment
from its temporal boundaries.
But I can’t say whether I dream of publishing a novel that rocks people’s worlds,
because my mind can’t yet fathom a space that grand.

I can feel the textures of my future life,
but the thoroughfares of their manifestation elude me.
I believe in meaningful, passionate work, and direction, and I want to seize all of that
but right now
I’m finding meaning in an hourly wage, hospitality job where I know well my role and that my role is a valued, important part of a whole; a whole full of inspiring colors and characters.
I relish my detours and diversions, small moments & random joys
I surrender to the uncertainties and ambiguities –
their sum the most exquisite aggregate.


Angers, France. 02-16-2014


Eyes. They say they’re the way to the soul, right? Looking or really seeing – which is it?

Oh wait, it’s that they’re the windows to the soul.

Looking in & looking out. Seeing and being seen. Hence, the fear of eye contact – the fear of connection and its possibilities.

But what if the window is cloudy? What if it’s only translucent?

What if it’s dirty, smudged & grimy so that one can’t properly see.

What if it’s so old that with each passing year, the glass has slid, ever so slowly down the pane – because of its composition and the dictates of gravity.

Improper sight through warped windows stirring this fear of connection. But sometimes, the lack of clarity is beautiful. To put on the rose-colored glasses, to accept the old pane of glass in all its blurriness, allows one to see in a light which can alter all other lights.

Glasses, windows, eyes. Eyes which see through glasses and windows.

Eyes as the opening & closing of sole persons. Sole worlds. Whole, complete, individual worlds wrapped up and containing what we term souls.

Open your eyes to me.

See beyond looking.

See me, see you, see one another.

Let seeing be enough.

Let it be everything.