today frustration stung my eyes
as I connected vine to bark
and found the lines made no sense at all
my hand betrayed me
or was it my eye
or the space between the two
somewhere in my shaken network
synapses backfired
and effort and time and even breath
made no difference at all
at the end of the day
i found solace in the second hand
and relied on nothing
only to surprise myself
with something redeemable
“we are not making art,”
she said,
and it is true
i believe art happens
with or without us