nowadays, low resolution images
of the younger you stimulate
a curiosity that probes
the id in search of an answer
to why I felt the way
I did all those years that
I spent mulling over how
a smile can cause a tree
to branch out further than
the far reaches of my far-flung
arms beckoning for your body
to come collapsing onto mine;
everyone's a pawn who stands
between our brittle bones'
magnetism. Neurons are bulls
set free in the narrow arteries
of the heart of the brain
that wants to know what's
in it for us and which
fate awaits our arrival.
branches that shot outward
gave birth to leaves as quick
as they fell until the rapid
process steadied to a calm
and screens grew bigger
with time, rendering old
images stale, my interest
dwindling to a nut
that would eventually fall
off, too, leaving me curious
about the roots from which
that tree grew. I know
you stand at the tip of
the iceberg, and I still scour
below freezing waters where
nothing but blindness grows.
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