Like Even Sent Love Letters

Syntax of the Soul

This life we live is full of memories
which pain us or bring us joy.
Either/Or,
they are moments frozen in time.
The past, like a November afternoon
filled with sun and leaves,
an unwritten letter finally wrote,
and even sent.

We move on, finally, from some,
cut loose and break free forever.
Like giants, we inhabit the Earth
(on drunken nights, pissing in alley-ways.)
(on sober mornings, chopping wood.)

Just imagine a match burning
out.

A river running.

A date. A relationship. An engagement.

The overlook of a great city.

We cannot possess another's heart,
so no jealously.

We cannot choose another's choices,
so no anger.

The syntax of the soul
can be easily read
like a series of fragments
that compose a story:

without anger, without jealously,
we overlook a great city
and realize we are the root,
the afternoon root growing
like dead leaves and sunlight in November,
we are matches burning
out,
we are burning dates,
moving on like relationships,
drunken men in alley-ways,
or staying,
like even sent love letters.