Just like you I only have this
of the world right now –
and just like you I grow most golden
watching strangers be themselves
(the mothers who pull their children
to their chests, chaotic corners
in the hottest afternoons).
But I am not trapped.
So what to do with this misty gift?
I say my brain is bad but maybe that
is that just a flirting form,
old impulse to mess-announce
from the platform
of all love, assumed.