People want to “make it.”
I just
want to find truth.
The quest may starve me
while others plant their roots
and their bellies grow full,
but what aches is not my stomach;
it’s a vacuous space within my chest.
Some call it the heart,
though what crackles—
crackles in a deeper depth—
is a space no one can point to,
yet everyone feels
when
cars stop and business
ends.
There,
in that still penumbra,
between stars and stone,
burns this silent shadow,
its kindling unknown.