I have a memory and I live in it
sometimes I am a carpet and I dust myself inside
like the world.
I do not share borders with you for my borders like the rainbow
exists only in the rains and the tear drops
I share verses, sadness and death
the trembling faith of a father with a lost child
spreading around like God
Today, poetry would beg for a ventilator
but will be shut down, for it died with the death of her kids
the colored wings of a butterfly, the moonshine and the smiling child
The windows, the desk, the pen
they crave for poetry, but she would not knock
for feelings are fragile and wishless and words scarce
as life cannot be erased and re-written and memorized.