Remember This
If I could write one million words
Spun together like silk
To make a narrative
A jacket, bespoke and worn
Who will buy?
If I brought to life
The child crying on a bench
Holding her own hands
Always watching things pass
Who will look?
Remember not my own aspiration.
Cast away the desire to be.
Pick up the thread.
Spin it between thumb and forefinger.
The twine of toil will be gold
