Dear SELF,
Michael Schmidtke (bio)

It’s embarrassing, this trying to think.
The thoughts stick out from you
like shiny Get Well! balloons.
Won’t you choose one,
won’t you focus? At least
let me rest, stumble back
to the cradle, watch planes
glimmer their concentric journeys.

I can’t tell what you believe in:
Adonai, Elohim, YHWH, the closer
to breath, the better? Or nothingness
falling on you gently as dandelion seeds—
now you’re covered in them.
Now you’re growing.
The sky siphons itself
into each yellow eye.
See? I’ve made for you
a very small task.

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