This is all there is
This fleeting sense of joy in your mouth
This bottomless pit in your stomach
I rock back and forth
Back and forth
Can I be rocked away to a faraway land?
Everyday my mind loses the ability to transport me to places.
I walk and walk and walk
Expecting to be paid for it.
When can we blow the whistle?
When can we halt the game?
When can we sit under the mango tree my father planted
And stare at the indifferent beauty of the moon
And think of nothing
And only
The moon
