Sometimes it doesn't matter what you do,
and sometimes it does matter what you don't do,
but only sometimes.

All my solicitude
was offered to frauds.

Since no one accepted my offer
I will live for myself
and am hardly the first to have done so.

What do you do with the didn't-happens?
Do the infinite mourning and the endless celebration
cancel out?

Whether I have been neglected or judged inadequate,
my course—not recourse!—remains the same.

Shall we define people by what they lack
or what they add?

Sometimes those who live for themselves
gift the most to the world.

Sometimes the world is even wise enough to take it.

Usually not. Usually the unseen are unknown,
isolate neurons routed around in synaptic denial.

The present is the edge of a waterfall
that the past streams over into a misty future.

Sometimes when you're holding back
you intuit an endless replenishment.

A river can pass through the eye of a needle
but only slowly, slowly.

Many innovations look like carelessness.

Many juxtapositions feel like love.