I get distracted.
I set my brain to tasks like,
“Earn some money, call a friend, make a sandwich.”
Before I’ve fused the bread my mind is gone on self-made superfuel,
exiting the atmosphere,
waltzing with the deep black gulp and cosmic sprays that
soften its celestial margins.
Then I get distracted from that too.
Back to the sandwich,
but the bread’s gone bad plus
I’m hungry for something more.
Hungry for everyone getting along.
Hungry for a magic worth shouting about.
Starved for the kind of grace that would hold me close to say,
“It’s okay to get distracted.”