#17

Maybe we are not dancing enough, not eating enough 

fruits with our hands, their juices trickling down our elbows

making a mess of everything, hugging our friends forever

when we arrive at the gates of St. Peter because he will 

ask us how many seas we have dipped our toes into, 

flung ourselves body and all into the waves, holding hands 

with each other, sitting in silence enough, hearing each 

other breathe, always talking about this system entropy, 

that productive hours, as if Time is infinite unlike our words

which slip faster in prayer and in love, and the world is 

sped up, going by so fast, but not enough wind making our hair 

air messy, so that someone can put their fingers through them

without us asking to be comforted, bodies bearing marks 

of what the mind goes through, even this suffering is enough,

maybe we are not needed to say it is love, just showing it is enough.