there are two colors in my head

a creative god
has given me many
walls upon which
to hang myself.

it’s all a question of
framing,
isn’t it.
the corner of
a building,
whether or not
you believe in
such things as
disembodied hopes,
dreams, this
is one such place
they live;
the corner
of a building.

a woman tells me,
“you must be living
as you do
for the adventure of it!”,
and yes, this is
a way to frame it.

two people look
at a painting,
framed on a wall.
one person says,
“i do not
like this”,
the other person,
“this is beautiful”.

the choices we make
seem less
and less
a choice.
these are old ways
of framing
even older concepts;
do we have
free will?
are we fated to see
our dreams contained
in corners of
unfamiliar buildings?

the morning was
bright with cold,
it brought me evidence
of my own life,
blooming out
in front of me.
i watched
my breath, waiting
for warm, thinking
of it as adventure.
later, layered and
walking, a building
shows me its corner,
new brick
of an appealing texture.

it is not relevant
whether i choose to
walk this path,
the one that brings me
to a corner of
the bricked building.
our dreams are not ever
contained by any one form,
they move as though morning
vapor, through waking lungs.

Published by Zak

an intertidal island in an ocean of impermanence.

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