want to pay attention.
But at times, the attention runs
Like a son away from his mother
Like threads of a 13-year old knit sweater
My mother used to wear.
Now, it is hugging my body
On cold days
It warms the silence,
Penetrates the fog.
In the dark winter, I see
The disappearing leaves, the branches
Entangled and complex
The white crust clinging
To the metal bars and blades of grass.
They melt with the time, the breaths
And the cycle.
They’re mine as much as they’re yours
Never ours to hold
But always there, for us
To hold each other and to caress
Existences of the moment.
I don’t want to take off this sweater
Nor look forward to the end of winter.
You see,
The attention never left
For it is never away, never gone
Yet now I know that sometimes
Our bodies forget
And so sometimes we want.