more interested in being than improving these days
Four nights ago I heard
the sweet call of fantastic vision.
Hope of a life well-lived and uniquely played.
And rest.
But sunrise brought a flaming terror,
and burned out the peace I had tended to
over so many previous dawns.
The pain of loss (not now, but soon)
drove me to pull what remained.
But I have begun to dig
in this new, hard ground.
Cultivating the seeds of an invasive peace
that thrives in the cracks between stones
and spreads beyond intention.
A family of three skunks showed me
the way to the lake
and the shore where sailboats,
sparsely docked, stood swaying
under mountain ranges of cloud.
I waited and watched
as the sunrise persisted,
illuminating the foothills.
A window (rose with fiery peach linings)
opened above the dim red burn
and lightning splashed its fierce light,
revealing hidden crags and peaks.
All the while changing, changing.
Tiny, lapping waves watched
and whispered too.
This is not the only shore,
there is another sunrise.
Giving beyond myself
The lump—that deep twist in my gut.
I am holding too tight, even as I let go.
Scooping out my melon of a belly,
emptying it of everything, including hunger.
You don’t care for watermelon
but I continue to present it, bowl after bowl.
An offering,
a show of just how far I am willing to go.
As unappealing as my misplaced entrails
and the hunger that is and isn’t.
I take it as a sign that I am truly living, that all at once I am experiencing
terror and joyful excitement
acceptance and hopeful ambition
deep laughter and slow tears
pride and regret
I am standing at the top of a hill ready to roll down, and I am at the foot of another hill beginning to climb.
I take this as a sign that I am truly living.
