One hand open and the other closed in a fist,
Offensively prepared in order to defend.
Straightened out after almost dying,
But why does it have to be that mortality is the only reason to try and make sense?
I’m amazed at what my eyes have seen,
But all the more amazed at how limited I am in perspective and insight.
My trust is much like when I try to hold your hand,
Strained at best; painful and unsure, uneasily making an effort for something desired and also frightening.
Cold winds have become a pleasure in this life with almost constant muscle pain;
While the stiffness is enhanced, it reminds me of the privilege is to be alive.
Humanity is a strange activity more often than not,
The closer you come to dying;
You may end up feeling more alive.
Walking a sidewalk is more akin to swimming in a sea of misinterpretation,
Surrounded by floundering intentions and emotions.
Masked attendants stand at corners waiting to cross the street,
When they can’t even understand how to interact with another human being.
Don’t expect an answer.