Five Proofs

I want to see the world how you see it.
When you fix your gaze on every man’s every breath
and see the brushstroke of God.
You know what they say,
we can’t contain anything greater than ourselves
or else it contains us,
a model ship inside corked glass.
And I know you have to be outside it
for me to breathe, but can you
at least tell me what I’m meant to do
with these hands.
These cursed fingers that scratched
and scratched, until
your light became dark.
It’s privation, it’s poison,
but it’s so,
so hard
not to see your smile in every nightfall.

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