Intention, for me, is like a shy cloudbank of conjecture,
peeking over the horizon of this moment.
Intention is a vaporous tarp of unseen method
that demands concrete enactments for existence.
I feel assigned a clipboard of my observable traits
with check boxes and the riddle of intention
as task from my self-emitted vibes
towards connectivity with others.
We . . . humans . . . are as a family
always in movement towards closure.
For me . . . intention in life is this soup kitchen
towards everyone becoming familiar,
where I yearn to be on staff,
by stepping right out of these clouds,
past the tarp and the unchecked clipboard,
and handing you a bowl
of how I feel life should be,
giving as living . . .