Phlogiston

A fading teal green low ceiling

faces a wide window.

And I wish it was a mirror,

not to see myself, but to open up the space.

You can’t legislate morality

so you have to do the unfathomable

and believe there are other believers.

Coming together and breaking apart,

so much energy,

who knows what it will make.

Were you trying to create

just combustion?

No, you don’t know

where it’s going

even when we can confirm

it’s neither created nor destroyed.

I wish I could make you a welcome packet

to orient you me,

an old painting in a new frame.

This is not a desire to tempt or obfuscate.

I have learned to live newly

like now I’m nine again

bringing home a class project

actualizing a big A.

I just want you to see me

with that goodness that I made.

As I sort out the unfished papers

of my life,

what to return to,

what to face down,

I’d like it to be believed that I could

make goodness for us both.

But mostly, I’m just wishing

the lowest ground would find me

even on the top floor.