Is it much?
Like tassels in a cornfield
paged to a light rhythm below the sky?

Is it scarce?
Like gold
that scattered countries defend?

Is it alone?
A quiet boy in hiding?

Is it close?
A bike ride around
a small town block?

Is it too far?
An intergalactic pacific
to an ant?

Is it destined? Is it chance?
A sudden hiccup? A lifelong romance?

Is it easy?
Like small talk and weekends in june?

Maybe difficult?
So our minds are the only...

Are we early? Are we late?
Counting waves of redshifts?

Are we the peace? The war?
Have others had themselves destroyed?

Like deja vu, here before?
Will distant sails ever deploy?