four // once

(for once) I am reading a book I have bought;
I listen to Debussy,
sentimental serenades and Tchaikovsky
and sit, book in hand
with the feeling I am more

large, bold
brash and patient than lives before
pink, and prim, and ancient in our shared sky
stars die and breathe new each day

seeking recognition
in steady constellations, parapets yet to form
the moon dangles — surrounded by stangers
old and born, bred and marked

if she is me, and I am her
this game of hide and seek is no surprise
respect is a portal, stepping through eyes
to catch a glimpse; surmised

“darkness is necessity, when purpose is to shine”

abandoned,
learned pause reaches hands, and
broken watches prove rarely wrong when
worn with intent to remember

February 5, 2026

My Follicle