i almost wrote you

another of those
long and winding
lost somewhere in the middle
all raw
i get and am; a living
wire, charged with a current
unseen
kinds of letters
never quite falling on ears
able to hear
as they sound coming from these
fingertips

of my own, but
reaching
always seeking
the connection
jury-rigged and duct taped
because the wire's too
hot, even
as we turn toward another
greywinter wind

it always is, will be
even as leaves become
wet earth growing
a green gleaming again

the wire is fed
a source
unstoppable and
of itself
of myself
of our shared
time, here
and there
in a future
as they all are
filled with preambling
butterflies and neverstopping
knowing and wondering
but evermoving
like the heart's beating
and bouncing and living and trying

moving faster than most

i recognize, of myself
not so much what the
mirror reflecting years
and some selfsame idea
of what

I am;
or used to be;
or will become;

glass, given enough time
moves
as nature
as gravity, and the heaviness that I know
weighs down
but just as gravity is given
so is the weight I carry
inside

even ever, the most sunshining happiness
(and it is) because of you
I must always carry the weight of my
nature

of someone else is impossible to know
to fully understand
you try to carry it
but you can't
and I can't; the weight of your
nature

we, each
together, but solitary
must author our own designs
and know our own
natures
and carry them
together