climbing to its peak poem #6

I’ve never felt these 39 years.

my youth

i remember well

I didn’t hurt as much then,

as cold nights hurt me now.

I’ve always had to mind the volume of my living,

it is too much animal for most.

what aches, is better in a pretty dress

what laughs, is woven out of headaches

—a pile of, in addition to, 

a smile of, maybe tomorrow—

how does one become enough?

how is that much weight determined?

how does howling occupy to the desert?

how do you belong to me?

brackets hold your darling fears in place, 

they long for adoration.

no other limb 

could possibly replace,

the ones that draw you near/

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