I would be stretched almost to popping point
with words
and ideas
and music

(sonatinas, African drums, orchestras climbing to climaxes)
and color
and Italian food
and friendship
and all the best movie lines
and raindrops
and a heart like a cup overflowing
and languages like foreign spices
and sunshine
and glimpses of truth
and dancing
and mysterious uncertainties
and freedom, and grace
and algebraic formulas
and this moment of sitting in a classroom,

surrounded by voices,

with luminous clouds out the window,

and a hope for my future,

and a scribbling pencil that cannot deflate me fast enough.

Every moment, I am filled anew.