all my life I’ve wondered what’s inside of me,
what I’m really made of
is it all hope-driven gears, creak-cranking,
squeaky with cynical grease?
or is it luminous rays of wonder and awe,
eyes, blinking and seeking love, pure and true?
is it all smoke, a fevered kiln of passing time,
age-dried straw, a mess of flaking atrophy?
or is it a not-so-flash flood, raging, rising,
the result of an aching, beating heart?
is it all waves of water and crackling fire,
opposing forces, one constantly quenching the other?
or do I simply burn for all that I am not,
for all I do not have?
-artwork by my daughter