but my brain was elsewhere,
leaving the ceiling for the sky,
wanting it to only be mine.
nothing belongs to us in the long run.
I write and publish and post it,
others read it, ignore it, interpret it
in their own minds and hearts.
this creates a new history,
a new life that doesn't belong
solely to the creator anymore;
I wonder if this is how God feels.
what is only mine, I ask,
as I float, my wet belly on the clouds.
the only thing I have ever kept or won
is my back towards the setting sun.