Momentary lapse in concentration

I'm sorry for the way
my brisk stride disturbs
the settled atmosphere
of the air around me.

The air did nothing to deserve that.

I felt lost until you found me,
then I left before I could
find myself. 

Now there isn't a leaf, blown 
carelessly onto the pavement, 
that I couldn't disturb with
the weight of my heavy shuffling.

How worthy is a master carpenter
without a developed taste for
art in their work? 

I'd rather be the architect-
at least then you'd be 
immortalized in my imagination,
instead of the cause of momentary
lapses in my concentration.


“Get home safe”

Love is in neither heart
nor soul; love is in the 
"be safe, drive slow."

Love is with your hand to hold;
love is in the way you're told
"text me first thing
when you get home."

Love is in the effects 
that come after;
love is something you 
just feel happening.

I don't know if this is love,
if it's bold of me
to make the suggestion; 
I don't know if my expression 
is enough.

Love me not for my spoken word,
love me for my greater purpose;
love me like I wasn't worthless.