Child
I have heard tales
about you.
tales
of your greatness
tales too great to be believed
tales
of how you are a thirst
that can even gnaw
a throat
dipped into the veins
of water.

I have heard tales
about you
tales
of your greatness
tales too great to be believed;
tales of how you let fishes drown;
tales of how you let the sun & the moon
hold hands in your palms.

I have heard tales
about you
tales
of your greatness
tales too great to be believed
tales of how thunders are but your farts;
tales of how rains are but your tears.

the taletellers tell me
you can make others great, too;
perhaps almost as great as you.
the taletellers tell me
you can make a star a sun
as long as a star wills to give up its ‘starness.’
the taletellers tell me
you can make a river a sea
as long as a river wills to give up its ‘riverness.’
you can make a hill a mountain
as long as a hill wills to give up its ‘hillness.’

& i laugh, laugh loudly
& tell them: no star can give up its starness
to be a sun; no river can give its riverness
to be a sea; no hill can give up its hillness
to be a mountain—just to be great
for there’s no greatness for one
outside what one is & if the fabled child
is a full summer moon, then i am unapologetically
a fading star drowning in its poetic luminosity
without wishing to be it for reluctance
to give up one’s insignificance
is greatness—true greatness, too.