crooked lines
sometimes
abstractions become the broken wings of our own imagination
like two parallel lines that never meet
in our minds
but the earth’s surface does not allow this
may meridians show us the sun shining
in a myriad of places at the same time
time is inexistent, space is
the globe already moving on
her surface will make two lines meet, always, eventually
and so, her ground calls out to our imagination
look at me! how crooked I am
let my crookedness make you supple, not rigid
forever transformative like me
like lines meeting in your minds
to fall in love with a crooked line
means
everything is alive
even you.
