here are the verses when the head strikes a gray stone wall
feeling that one can still live, find something to lean upon.
here is the wall—of rough stone, not of mist,
it is cold, it is hard, it remains unshaken.
breathe out your warmth, breathing in the fog’s dim haze.
bite your lip, but do not clench your jaw to the end.
let the lip go, feel the pulse of blood within,
for poetry is blood that speaks in verse,
for it is chill and hardness once you have cooled,
for it is fire—you burn, you burn unextinguished,
for it is verse, and the mist, and the asphalt, and walls,
for it is the sea, the verse, the waves on the shore,
for it is verse, the flame burning between the temples,
for it is verse—even if no one can hear you.
2025.09.27