49




Surely
we have created everything with fate.


On days like these,
it all falls together so effortlessly.
Days, they fall suddenly
like a grandfather's 81st birthday,
like melted cupcakes and
broken down vehicles and
sudden sex on dirty sheets,
like a whistle stop red wine and
a small puppy's subtle cry or
a 49.49 in an herb shop,
the cardinal number squared
or something with the kind of meaning
that cannot quite be grasped.

Surely there is more to this
than
a simple definition.

A small sign breathes into me,
life
a quiet and odd reminder
after months of (an endless sort of) aching
and
an unquenchable emptiness
meant to gather speed
only slows
as
I regain control.

and now
I see (clearly)

There are cycles gripping every inch
of this place.
One need not be well-versed in
the language of the divine,
a simple 49
can transform reverie into an eerie sensation
of infinite connection.