Forge a head

How little should be let out as to not drown out their dreams, how many drops do not dilute the concentration of their pungent magic that lives only on fresh air and new seasons, tiny eternities in which every-which-way is a fractal blossoming out of potentialities…it seems any rational and metallic words, like screws unthread, useless, may interrupt, suffocate and sever the boundless expanse of the plane, the stretching possibility of entanglement or the greatest good reverberating out from where hearts have shattered and self-heal with the thick paste of time and enlightening the way out or by exhaling

Desires settle into embers before giving into coals where some semblance of rationing will be met and meted out for others to consume as heat. Hands up, palms and face forward, the extremities tingle in the charged air

Where silence is golden

And gold retains its heat, resistant to rust and nonconductive.

Worth less

Than never. 


Painting By Airy, Anna, 1918 The "I" Press Forging, in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Inheritance

Even though I have sacrificed the most I can muster without giving everything I have not got and then some, the result is not a real number, the answer, the sentence does not equal a positive or whole but a fraction to make sense or solve the problem-a new symbol or operator is needed, the characters caused the result.

I owe my children an apology. The kinks in the chain, the taut metal streaked with broken veins were my breaking. I chose their father to take me away from my misplaced misery, and like wise he chose me for his own miseries. Regardless, it made the same result, where the positives stand apart and refuse to coagulate or assimilate and the largest numbers stay on top just out of reach. I subtracted their fathers negative charge and was left with less than the x-axis for a lifeline. My parents, their grandparents did not choose me, nor I them, the result was the same, which is starting at zero, fortunate for the conditions that allowed everything to grow from nothing

I could do about it, their journey parallels mine for a time, they look over at me and gauge my speed, mimic my mannerisms and say they have found a way to live without the negative signs.

I have added much love to carry the ones, the remainders will end up rounded in and dropped off in soft loose links that indicate assembly will reach further, anchors will keep us in place, and Moonrakers, like the seine net, will make more Stardust than the galleons will float.

When the tide goes out we forget where the highest waterline once stained the sand,

but we have a feeling it will rise again, take the sand from our soles and float the rest.  


Painting by Nicolas Poussin, c. 1628 in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.