when i look inside and wonder
why the mainframe’s
shutting down,
pause and listen for the message
the quiet notes the memory plays:
charlie’s small voice that says
pain is a pearl. you
layer and layer coats
of gloss to hide the tiny kernel
in an alabaster shell.
it magnifies the decay, buries the green growth
so the only thing i see–that’s all there is: i–
i worry what i believe
myself to be–do i base my identity on the sorrow that i’ve
seen? still
one day i’ll find the trick
i’ll break an egg and start again
