Compassion is not just
wearing another’s shoes
but filling yourself into
their cavities;

in front of their spine
and up to their shoulders
so when they curl up to sleep
you have felt the weight they bear.

Then you must travel
through their most vulnerable cords
until you reach the space
between their eyes.

From here you see
through their colored irises,
their friends and their papers
wrought with words,

But still this is not enough.
A human is more than what you see…

to understand how a man thinks
remember what he sees,
recall the weight he bears,
and follow his hands.

Despite the length of a man’s arms
his hands are one thought away
from another’s words.
Hands are how

a man changes his world.
So mind another’s shoulders
and be kind to his back,
to his eyes and his arms.

how can you mock another
until you have become them?
who can you pick on?



a thought unrecognized

Of things unwritten;
how long will it take
to surface and stain?

To the shadow on the wall
cast in gray

you are not the mug
nor the light
nor the white wall,
so sure of its irregular dimples

but a question
in too little color,

a thought unrecognized
impermeable and flat,
a quizzical glance to dust;

what hides in your shape?
nothing so deep as your color
something so flexed in symbolism

the meaning asks itself
to whom do I belong?

Dear shadow;
this is not to say you are worthless
or you are weak or purposeless

since my hand shadows this page
and as long as there is light
you may exist as well

but you are manipulated into form
again and again
in a dimension less than mine

this is what
I see.