How Are You? (Sandcastle 12.15)


Three words spark
a thousand lies
in my black hole of a mind
each lie a light
a billion stars in a trillion
galaxies contained
in a single thought
in a single pause
in a single moment
of awkward silence
while I decide which one
to pluck from the abstract
like a peach from a tree and
reshape into words.

How are you?

I fumble for a light
in the endless possibilities
but they are restless,
elusive as fireflies
slipping through fingers
like holding onto water
or memories, and I may be
the artist of a thousand
brilliant lies but I am no orator—
if my stumbling tongue doesn’t
betray me, the truth is in my eyes,
so while I marvel at the artistry
of a thousand lies spinning
in a vortex around me, burning
white-hot in the darkness of indecision
with me at their center,
they dance out of reach,
and I always
extinguish them
one at a time
when I take
a breath and echo
the familiar answer—

“I’m fine. Just tired.”