Games, you think

Somewhere in cold mountains
a bridge made of vines rocks
slowly.
Abruptly
people arrive like questions
out of low clouds.
You’ve seen them
on grocery store runs,
holding a steering wheel,
walking the dog,
marking the periphery of those
you like, but don’t agree with.

Most of their problems are because
they lost something,
you think. And say
I cannot explain
what you must understand.
Waiting, they listen.
swaying.
Oh, I believe-
their eyes avert.
I believe in your strength,
your endurance.
Their minds are no longer in the silence
of cold mountain winds.
How?
How is this going to help me?
I am
not
you.
I want
happiness.
Can I be sure
of my neighbor’s smile?

Trust yourself.
You can.

Trust the part that accepts your eyes
and still yearns to climb,
to carry
pens and books and warm food.
You are real.

their hands reach backwards,
patting purses, pockets.
Games, you think.
Games are cruel but puzzles
are the landscape of a questioning mind.

swaying still, they look over the edge
count things
walk away.
disappear into the clouds.

but how can I teach anybody
frightened, scared, bored person
something I’ve only learned?
my viewpoint is better than their anxiety?
I’ve had it easy.
easy.
life is
easy one
moment. one
head, shoulders, knees and
one swaying bridge.
one curious, surely planted moment
is all I’ve got.

they eye you as you laugh to yourself.

smiling, you gape
your face to them.
some laugh,
smack their foreheads-
that’s right! We’ve tried this
in our twenties,
and turn half gracefully
to talk politics.

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