Lack lock luck
Lost
Un autre vie
The unattainable impossible
Just as Hoy writes the “cruel optimism”1
But perhaps it is not so cruel as it is far away
A yearning can be real even when it’s raining
Small everything, a petite morte, a petit ami
A desire to be close, to enmesh and entangle with another
The I is slowly disappearing into the world
Wishing our fantasies like dandelion
Dispersing through loves and losses
Church bells signal beginnings and ends and births and deaths
Desire to try but not to reach
Standing on the precipice of something great but far enough to wave it goodbye
when the seasons change 