It is like pulsing flame
Held between quivering hands
I want to have it painted across the sky
Every vibrancy, every shade
Yet hesitant, mostly afraid
The tinted glasses, indifferent glances
worse, mistaken invitation
to add strokes to the palette.
We all share the same sky;
Do we see the same?
Torn between sharing a sunrise
or having a nightlight by the bed
This struggle; persistent back and forth
Is what tells me this is different—
This time, this thing