the blazing light at the edges of the ice on the sidewalk
wakes up something in my mind, some sense of the real
and i tell myself it doesn't mean anything at all
except for snow and sun and everything that entails
but then i guess that's a lot, maybe that's most of it
it's hard to find the world beautiful when it's dying
it's hard to love what you're going to lose
but then if you can't find beauty in what's dying
what else would you find it in at all?
some days i think
you're only ever
talking to yourself
other days it seems like
we dwell in the
warmth of some
shared understanding
(like there's a we,
all told, lit with the light
of other souls)
it's always fleeting,
too brief, an unstable
configuration
except when it seems
bigger than the whole world
the way a mountain
in the distance
is part of the landscape
while one underfoot
is the whole of it
we're left i guess
unable to agree
what it all meant or
should mean
but i still find myself
reaching for the idea
that it meant
that it means
something