So often these days I am at a loss


for the language of apology,
the kind that could address
the enormity of what I cannot
say but feel and hangs awkwardly
in the balance of all we do
or cannot do— Though in the end
I know my failings are my own,
including the accidents
and omissions, the missteps,
the touch that never fully
landed, the arrival several
years late. I never believed
that one could have it all.
Never thought myself specially
exempt from certain circumstances.
I've seen the swift descent
of change, the departure of
what we thought we'd fixed
on inviting soil. The only
constant is how we move
from station to station,
no longer logging impossible
miles; only hoping for small
kindnesses like the sight
of water or birds.

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