it can be a
struggle
to feel connected
to each other,
fellow human,
yet we
easily,
instinctually,
create ourselves
in everything
we see.
we feel
disgusted
with our neighbor
but we find a
sweetness
in their
trundling lawnmower,
a kinship
with their
responsible mailbox,
a friend
in the wisened eyes
of their old wooden
house.
i do not have
a mind for
knots.
over and
over i have
to ask how
to tie the
simplest
of knots.
the simple knots
that keep me
tenuously attached,
i cannot remember
their complexity.
when the wind is up,
the visiting wind,
the knots
speak to me
insistently.
i worry
that i misunderstand
them,
sleep lightly
in fear that i will
miss their message.
the visiting wind,
even when it
stays
it always
goes.
its staying
is its act
of going.
is that not what
it is to be
human, too?
a robot
is made by
a human
to remember
lots of
information.
in time,
the robot
loses
the ability
to retain
the information,
loses
the speed
at which it can
recall.
slowing down
to its inexorable,
inevitable,
end.
it isn’t that
the species
doesn’t behave
in ways that
warrant disgust,
no, but
it is a failure
of intelligence,
a tightness
of spirit,
that binds us
to our bigotries.
sweet human,
no matter
the layers
of disgust
we paint
upon
ourselves,
no matter
the disconnect
we feel from
each other,
it is wonder
that we are all
born from,
and, even
if we lose it
along the way,
wonder
that awaits
our return.
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