You didn't believe me when I said Happy Birthday, so I felt the need to tell you again,
maybe then and only then,
you would see the wisdom in your young eyes,
and the depth in those seamless crow's feet of yours
You worry about wrinkles,
about these blips,
but these were just moments of weakness,
just momentary lapses and nothing more
You didn't notice that when I spoke of you, I spoke with utter certainty,
that I wanted to yell at the top of my lungs that you were your keeper,
that you had come face to face with your maker
and then you made good on all of this
You sit in silence in these meetings of yours,
recalling the recollections of others,
spooning your innards, scraping, rather,
for empathy,
when it had been there all along
You have more life in you than this lifetime promises to hold,
more happiness resurfacing from that hibernation than most of us know what to do with,
more to offer than we know how to accept,
more dreams than you could hold in your nightly slumber
You are bursting at the seams to be some kind of greatness,
what kind, you are not yet sure,
save to say,
this roundabout is very Muybridge of you,
with your feet all the way up and off the ground,
with no intention of ever looking back,
perhaps no kind,
perhaps in kind---
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