Seventeen

But what can we use this for? you
don’t ask so much as say.
Well, Math because equals and
History because Back in the day.

But how could you, at seventeen,
grasp either of those yet
in any sort of scale?

The distance we cover is more or less
the distance we can sense.
Using mirrors, double the horizon,
the distance from birth.

For the very idea of more,
it takes a trick.

Knowing this, our gaze
bouncing around the room,
we worry that maybe life
is less than we take it for.

The first disillusionment
with magic,
the next with reality.

We question the fabric:
is it not torn?

Do we then question
what it adorns?
Or dismiss fabric and
revel in nakedness?

Of course, time and
space and even our bodies
are not clothes or blankets
so much as media in which
our real selves communicate.

There are degrees of realness
dictated by life force and proximity,
and the realest to ourselves
we ask to send and bring messages
to and from those
inhabiting or roaming our distances.

We carry others’ messages, too.
There is so much to say, and nothing;
so far to go, and here.

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