Long ago, I believed I was worth believing in---
I had something to give you,
something that was relevant to your conscience,
to mine,
if only somebody had told me that conscience itself was relative
I started to think that optimism was extinct,
that it was an endangered frame of mind,
of sorts,
but it was much more than that,
I had an idea of where we would all end up,
where we were supposed to jig and saw our way apart and then back together,
until we could blur our own vision by looking at it up close,
until we could back away from these broken pieces,
trying restlessly why they belong exactly where they are,
exactly where we foresaw them at rest
Long ago, I was something else---
I had beautiful dreams,
and I was still counting up to one hundred,
and I didn't know yet that one hundred was part of two frames of mind,
of kind,
but it was much more than that,
it was this
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