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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.
The heart grows tender only in the dark places of pain and loss
where seeds of anger die too slowly
but then reach
for the hope of rebirth
for the delicate touch of light
for a healing shower of grace and love
Tasting the starched fullness of expectation
I die poisoned by the truth of being
always less than
always not enough
always me.
The tips of fingers and toes stiff with cold
trap the moment
as I remain attached to wanting thoughts
in loneliness waiting
for the warm of spring
