II
Once
long ago
my mother’s psychic declared
that one lifetime
is like a word
in a book
And my skewered mind
responded
“the”
Since then
a struggle has ensued
I shield my eyes
from the image of
“the”
How sad
pathetic even
to face a voluminous universe
as a small passage
a tiny puff of air
an unnoticed interlude

III
There is something about my heart
that always holds its breath
It sneaks oxygen
in the flash of moments
between shock
and wonder
Then again
consider the humble “the”
an open transparency
Like a gift the earth
gives to a flower