Calligraphy in malls

Calligraphy in malls,
he wrote.
Or with a grubby 8 year old
thrilled with new pens.
Or a circle of song in a room of resilience
and messy tables.
Or a place of retreat that wheezes quietly,
empty, full, empty,
without a glossy flyer.
Or poems lost in notebooks
in millions of basements.
These lives that are not so big,
with moments of expansive large
embodied in small shortness,
have been judged and found wanting.
Underneath the wanting,
there is a trickle where all wants are filled
and the bead is content
with its indistinguishable place on the string.