the little i,
a stubby nothing
shadowed by a looming
darkness. it goes
nowhere without
its cloud – a
reminder of how
it was drawn with
heavy hand and
ruthlessness or maybe
just absentmindedness
and apathy.
who cares.

when the cloud takes
the shape of a heart
drawn quickly, with-
out consideration,
it is heaviest.

the bigger the cloud,
the smaller the stub
shrinks until maybe
one day the cloud
will crush it
down to
nothin
g

Or maybe it will
grow to usurp
the oppressive dot –
trade its stub
for a tall full line,
its burden for two
bold stripes to frame it.
Maybe it will shed
the cloud they so
diligently darkened.

doubtful