A story lives in the shape of things
words in the walls
left unspoken or unheard.
A memory in the feel of the air
blowing through time
trapped in a trinket or touch.
A heart holds tight with a tear or a smile
enchanted
in the wisps and wonder
of lover speak.
Restless for the air outside
in the light of un-stained glass.
I count my breath to calm my spirit with
doors closing and hushed children.
Invocation then
to dreams and freedom
away from pretense and prose,
Amen.
I don’t know in the night
about corner edges and how they hurt
about who is in charge of my broken heart
breath so loud with fear
and yet no voice
tears fall fast and never seen
the space divorced from eastern light
I don’t know in the night
about me, about hope
The personal threat of death looms heavy.
The air we breathe seems thick with risk.
As a physician, I live quite cautiously – very aware of biology and consequence.
At the same time I live blindly in service to a call.
So regarding my death,
I am aware of treasured moments and hope
yet also the horror of being very alone in fear…
today that will be enough.
Barely awake with tangled thoughts
around hurt
around pain
reaching around
for the energy of presence
The wanting whisked through a conflicted reality
Some can’t stop.
Each moment boiling over into another hot space
guarded by an other,
while hate drives quick breaths unintentionally
feeding a monster.
Bloom.
Alone
seemingly above it all
success
radiates like heat
upward
then
into the burden of the soul
Alone.
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