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September 10, 2003

Not sure how far I can reach,
not sure where my hands will end
so that I might never come upon
the things that look so far away.
Not sure if I can last long enough
hold tight enough to bring in
the things for which I've longed
that I'm still afraid to touch.
Much of what I've done is avoidance.
Much of what I want is better
when left to the devices of my mind
to wish and dream, but never achieve.
I'm still unsure I want anything.
I'm still not sure how to take
what I've decided to trust in
but I tentatively stretch out again.
I'll hold my hands steady this time,
burn through the anxiety that threatens
to make me a short sound played out
and faded into nothing but memory.