The lines, the shapes of continents, form the contours of my day
The depths of oceans, bones in skulls, moments caught to play.
I ready self, I psych it up, I capture ambered moments
But all lined up (along my shelves) it comes down to atonements.
Instead I grapple, I find words, I leave myself behind
And find the shapes, the lines emerge, not knowledgeable, but kind.
I pour it out, curled on the couch, list failures academic
He steadies me, refills instead, the change in me systemic.