Nation of Saplings

Having a novel in my head is the closest parallel

My male body may have to pregnancy

I have felt the sympathy weight of my partner bearing

The consequence of my sperm to egg  

The life where there was not such life and return to dormancy

Life exiting and being documenting for the swallowed pride

For the inability of interface, cause and effect dancing

The mind wanders into feckless forests  

The thoughts for this book in my mind

Become vagabonds in such ways

Their limbs and organs are forming in scattered allocation

This body has a pancreas, this forty percent of its epidermis  

Others have scars and nubile flection to perform acrobatic gymnastics

Of character and historical pertinence, the universe is on a trampoline

Bouncing to become either a platform of unforgettable friends

Or cursed vagabonds never to materialize into the clearing of known  

For others to see their faces the way they may have attempted to introduce

Themselves to me and oh how I was so entangled with the job hunting

The pressure drop of the work-away day listening to financial statements and tax returns

Banging on my door for entry and reconciliation  

The novel world is crying for existence from embryo to soul-bound

Fingernails scraping for entry into the spine-paper and digital download

The anchors of being an incomplete man and harboring a nation of ghosts

So that lungs and souls may employ a graveyard of all the children I could have known  

If only I commit the time to write, for there is no exception for putting in the work

The stretching of the imagination to craft a scene, a character out of the grayness

To bleed a green or a blue or any passionate hue of gray other than the precipitation-fog

Love knows such hardships; writers build and demolish our own prisons  

So forgive me if I am distant, you see the fear is in me too

What if I do not complete this journey for my life is not the only one which will drown,

But this nation of saplings that is so ever hungry to see the sun