Maybe, tikkun olam:
t o f i x t h e w o r l d
w e s h o u l d fix ea ch ot he r;
pick ing up ea ch oth er’s
piec es and
fit ting th em ba ck to get her.
Maybe, kintsugi:
that our bro ken ness makes us beau ti ful
to tho se who h ave seen bro ken ness;
th at we share beau ty in how we fil led
o ur cra cks and corner s.
Evanescence has its uses: evading small, insignificant words, tossed around by force of habit rather than any intention to exchange; fading into doors and windows when agoraphobia sets in; floating in and out of objects, animals, people, as desired (desire is the most inappropriate term at this point); silence is a precious time that allows one’s inner voices to discuss–or debate–in peace.
It’s a significant trade, of course: there’s that particular advantage (addiction?) to having eyes focus on instead of past; of words–even one’s own voice–echoing inside instead of drifting in a straight line, form thought, form love, regurgitated and partaken; meaning full, instead of meaning less.
It would be nice to be solid (matter) every once in a while.
Left Hand, Write Hand 