Poem: The Need
Closer is warmer.
Where is the womb we seek? Where is the haven of possibilities that we spend all our days chasing, as though we exited at the wrong time, like travelers without a map?
Those science films of blind moles bumbling in their holes –our whiskers are shorter, and our fur less uniform, but the desperation seems familiar: scurrying we know not where, searching for we know not what, colliding by chance.
The random dance plods onward, until the music stops.