because I can't not—
not the way it sounds. despair
found a hole in my lungs
to nest in long ago
but behind me is all dust
and splinters and smudged
names. a me anywhere else
but here is not me is not
sinless or free, anyway.
of all the places on earth i could
be born there will always be
some fucking thing. so
here is fine enough and
so is now, to plant my feet
and plant my garden and stand
for as long as i can