How silence thirsts for company. How thrashing strives for something still.
How an empty bowl begs for a feast and a bursting belly craves another
hunger. How a toddler rockets toward a ledge while a grown-up girl
reaches arms out, again, toward her mother.
How the smallest things light up a room and the brightest thing will bare
and dim it. How a street connects and splits its neighbors. How a celebration
fails to please and a lone candle flickers bliss. How no one needs to be there
and how everybody does. It's never one or the other, but a hyphen line
between the two that contains the complicated magnificence of being.
A river threading through its stones, the blood shaking loose our bones.