He often wonders what to do,
whether to walk from one window to another,
or take up a book
that breaks open as soon as he touches it,
or bend his firm feelings
backwards and forwards for flexibility.
He knows the stars don’t struggle
in deciding whether to shine or not,
nor does his heart have trouble
choosing how to push the boats
of his blood inside his body.
Still, it’s not easy for him.
Should he help his car
cruise out to the beach,
or should he show himself
the sunlight on the lettuce
in his backyard garden?