you serve as a character
in someone else’s story.
they are the protagonist.
the agonist who pricks their fingers
on a dirty needle.

maybe the needle is a person.
maybe their geometry,
is not a fibonacci shell, but a blade.
which serves to cut the ropes
before they have a chance to hang.
either way, you cannot save them.

you are a support beam
maybe not a beam, but a bridge.
to get them over to where it’s safe,
whatever safe means.

this is not about you.
this is about how the moon looks
in eyes clouded by cataracts;
about how it attracts the tongue of waves
like a baby crawling on all fours
towards the breast of their mother.

this is not about you.
you are a static motion in the clamor.

you need to be the boat,
which floats across the water,
the ferryman who works without a fare.

but this time,
it is not about you.

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