From inside a wooden crate under our mobile home
I’d look through the sandy darkness
at the spider webs that never had spiders in them
and wonder where they were.
But I think the real reason I was under there
was because I was trying to gather some protection.
I decided darkness loved me because it never hurt me.
Which was a marriage that followed me into my teens
where eventually life got a little more unpredictable.
I’d leave the earth in a single thought,
and magically stop cruelty in the world.
I believed you had to abandon your attachments to be safe.
And things have only gotten more wonderfully uncomfortable from there.
The truth is, I prefer being an undefined thing.
Now I’m invisible and scattered and nobody’s son.
But somehow I’m still here, loving occasionally,
working in a school with other lost children
who don’t yet know it’s important to be alone,
or that happiness doesn’t have to go on the fridge under a magnet,
in order to be felt,
and at the risk of sounding somewhat defensive,
I’m glad to be something as elusive as the sky.
But I think it takes time to feel glad about that.