Maybe Galileo had a real daughter
that wasn’t me
So I live to envy vision
That is how I learn

I am the brood of bold choices;
a solitary destiny
Traffic on the road less traveled
gets worse all the time

I am delivered to the refuge
in an ecology of language
the only way one can live there
–– which is alone

Luxe moments to savor
the aftermath of reading
words who puncture and remain
The trophy of sentience is thoughtful silence

It becomes about contemplating endings
as mirages
And the notion that science would be
nothing without skepticism

I am not sure how my primal reflex
became as it is:
embedded in soft tissue
I am thankful for what I am given