I write a journal in poetry,
\nor poetic prose.
\nUngrammatical, romantic,
\ncoarse,
\nwith the wood, glass, iron of my soul.
\nI forge a bond with the world,
\nmost with the children of my children,
\nfriends,
\nthe open harbors of travel,
\nthe space inside my shyness.<\/p>\n
I am not a link
\nin some chain of dandelions,
\nor a Don Quixote searching for a dream.
\nI am Ted,
\nlooking out the window of a school,
\nrunning home with his brother.
\nTalking to a friend
\nwho I love more than the other,
\nuntil I speak to them.<\/p>\n
A history,
\na story,
\nan awkward maker
\nof an out of tune romance.
\nBut oh,
\nhow I sing in love,
\nin gratitude to destiny
\nfor you all,
\nfor the story.
\nFor the germ that swelled into my soul.<\/p>\n
And a soul,
\nthat can\u2019t get big enough
\nto fill the sky,
\nmake faces at monsters,
\nwatch sails as they fly,
\nand then dance
\nuntil my feet no longer dance,
\nmy knees spring in joy.<\/p>\n
In the middle of a world
\nwithout cause,
\nhow I treasure all of you,
\nand shout,
\nin the only way I can,
\nI live,
\nand will end,
\nin the love and wonder of it all.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
I write a journal in poetry, or poetic prose. Ungrammatical, romantic, coarse, with the wood, glass, iron of my soul. I forge a bond with…<\/p>\n