Keep Your Youth

your hands are so impossibly small my dear
it is a wonder you can hold on to anything at all
let alone the multitudes of universes that you clutch in your palms
//
i don't want you to be afraid of the worlds you hold
more important yet, i ask that you not peek inside them
for atlas' task is far simpler with his innocence intact
//
please don't fret when they begin to vanish
yours is a great privilege
but none meant are to carry such an infinity
//
foster them as best you can
so that they may again find their place
and you, yours
//
the presupposition of time is a dangerous one
it does not belong in your head
but it has long been clear
that what belongs in your hands has made way for matters of consequence
and what belongs in your head is slipping through your fingers