why are we here?

To collect
 to Scatter
to find blindly 
To pen silly words
To dictate hollow phrases
  To build really big piles
Of flowers and grass and jars full of voices
  and moments
  that glow like dusty gold summer afternoons
To clench our fists into the earth and refuse to let go, no matter what, no matter who says
  To scream our bottled-up stars into the shrouded sky,
    And we are small
    and our hands release, and our arms fall limp with our faces at our sides
To experience
To finger flowers
To rob the fair rose
  To wonder
  Why and how
To question
To sit up straight and listen
  to the wind when there is nothing but a motionless night and a flattened heart
To sit passive as the wind chaps our lips and the moisture empties into the sky
  To trample eroding cliffs until there are no cliffs, nowhere, and there is nothing barring the sea from the     
   It slips in, indifferently, passionately
And you sit still, cloaked in your visions, 
  feeling blindly for a stone.

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