It Was A Lonely Realization Poem by Ben Partenay

it’s the small things that create, otherwise
this morning is inconsequential, the sun
is only rising to sink again, an anchor
a falling star, its curse, repetition

it has rained now, ever since when
and the drops fall in patterns, beat
morse code letters into rooftops
the heavens cry their tears, forever

would not be forever without a day,
this morning would be nothing without
the sun, everything needs everything
or else it isn’t, there

is congruence in the faces
of unimportance, the line is drawn
with water slipping down the window
with this hand tracing your face