one of the saddest things

i've ever known

is the weighted feeling

that comes with understanding

there is some

no so much beauty in

this world that i will

never be able to capture

in the words that

fill this journal

there is no alphabet

which contains the precise

lettering to explain how

the light looks, flashing

off the river that filters between

the boulders and nooks

and crannies set in the

small mountains out of cashmere

or the feeling that fills

my lungs

driving down an empty highway

looking at the trees

stitched

like  black lace

against the night sky

and-

perhaps it's just

my own ignorance that

blocks my pen

but for some reason

it saddens me that i will

never be able to

tell the story of the

broken trees

that litter the hillside

or the trashed boot

that waits patiently

by the river

for its owner's return

and in spite of knowing

there is more beauty in this world

i’ll never capture

than that i will,

i continue to try

ink will birth a new river

in these pages

until my last breath

and it will not be in vain

because a terrarium is only

a piece of the earth

and it is enough to be beautiful

not despite of what it lacks

but because of what precious little

it has the power to make visible