Perhaps I’ll integrate my heart and head.
Shall I attempt consolidation, just
the way my fingers interweave at rest,
or like I used to braid my daughter’s hair?
Or this: incorporate my soul instead –
encourage it to excavate my crust
and rediscover how to fill my chest
with ballast healthier than urban air?

I think I ducked, and let the inner go
to watch me, as I fumbled through my teens.
I made of awkward incidents a show;
I analyzed each syllable for means.
But age has pruned me – now I see the link
connecting what I feel to how I think.