Is hope alive?
How does it run?
What is that
turquoise scent?
Do I revile hope
or long for it?
Every morning
it arrives, twists
and writhes and fills
what is vacant
with a beautiful,
mysterious coiling.
I long for miles and miles
of hope, an endless,
generous rope of hope.
I want enough hope
to tie me up and
tether me to what
is here. Is an inch of hope
better than nothing?
An inch is enough
to cast a shadow.
An inch is enough
to make me dream.
A sliver is enough
for me to meet hope
with curious eyes and
offer it everything I am.