first rain

i wonder what the half life of hope is,
how long it takes for the rain to undo the vision of
the forest fire on the insides of our eyelids.

i wonder if a person can be made up entirely
of to-do lists & nostalgia- a walking palindrome
of forwardness
& ghosts.

i wonder, too, these days,
if that scraping is the sound of my own toes
on the bottom of the river, or the muscle of trust
stacking stones inside me.

i wonder how life can at once be
too much &
not enough.

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