If I am you and you are I, than who are they and them?

If she cries for sinners and he searches for saints,

will their paths ever cross?

Is it enough to root a being,

if the garden never gains a diverse array of seedlings?

If she is an hour glass of movement, trench felt salts

slipping through tempted hands,

a constant reminder of now-then-later,

can she ever be stopped?

If he is the binding of an unwritten book, a white

sanctuary of leather and thick

sewn pages, craving a master piece

of squid-like ink to be spilled,

will he ever be defined?

If the brewery halts and the wheat is untouched,

will the thinning bellies of

lost men, lead them to compassion?

If the bottomless pit of 40 proof nights

ceased, will clothing lengthen

and hardships solved?

If I am one-daughter-friend-lover-stranger,

and you are one-child-friend-lover-stranger,

what distinguishes us as unique?

If we race through life, feeling each tick,

to be wisped into a blindg-binding

predicament, 6 feet under,

what is our purpose?

If then, why now?