It seems possible, likely even,
that I’ve been wrong about everything,
or most things, for the past week.
Awe has been an awesome ma,
after all, and on second thought,
becoming a morning person
might prove achievable in ways
that becoming a sunrise might not.
I may have spoken too soon when I said,
with unearned confidence, that the boy
who gives away chocolate samples
sits in the dark, alone with his thoughts
of the girl who sells movie tickets
licking chocolate off her fingers,
that when he saw her it felt
like seeing a sunset through a hospital window,
and now my sources tell me that
the well-meaning asshole who bent
to pick up the snow-covered branch
was neither an asshole nor particularly
well-meaning, and in retrospect, hiring
a hitman to play on the company softball team
worked out even worse than asking a lunatic
how to get to an insane asylum, and there’s no way
to make umbrellas out of words, I get that now,
and no, buckets of words could never cool the fire
that makes me want to leap out of myself into you.