It lives inside you.

The sound of the stream where you learned to fish.

The smell of the morning swim, still on your fingertips.

The shape of the paths in the woods of your youth.

We name the animals and find our place among them.

Your home is on fire.

The sound of engines pumping heat into the sky.

The smell of barren soil as life is leeched away.

The shape of the graph that cancels the future.

We yearn for a voice that knows how we feel.

The paths less traveled.

We write, read, speak, march, fight.

We each find our own way to help.

We hope it’s enough, but we know that it’s not.

Not without others.

Not without you.