In my thoughts

In my thoughts

every poem I write is for my mother

who does not read

who did not read

who will never read

not even my letters.

What I write,

is my love.

Its fragile but not for her.

What I write,

is the perfect nothingness.

If you stop breathing

you will have lost.

I swim in my anger.

I swim in a glowing fire,

it is energy,

the source of which I do not know.

It is pushing me forward.

To where?

In my thoughts

I meet the mates of my soul.

All of them have familiar faces.

I do not know them,

I do not know them after all.

After all that longing

I do not know them.

Mindfully I do not look at them.

My mirrored image in the desert

shimmers, like an old movie in black and white.

The path of possibilities ends

right here, right now

never

in total nothingness

and I keep the open questions in my arms

as if they were crying babies.

I can not do this without anger,

but I can do it without judging.

So much is possible.

If I sit with them long enough

I am sure there will still be no answer

but maybe there will be me

not asking any more.