Circadian

Rising is:

the knowledge
that I have
everything
I need;

missing an old friend,
so odd that it has been
three years;

the joy
and monotony
of each day;

anxiety at knowing I can’t do it all,
that I will always disappoint someone;
the cold crisp air outside;
learning to structure an
unstructured day;

too much want,
and a desire to release;

learning that not enjoying
does not make me a failure;

that I can be disappointed by those I love
and still love them;

Rising is
faith
taking us
gently into each new day.

Circadian

Rising is:

the knowledge
that I have
everything
I need;

missing an old friend,
so odd that it has been
three years;

the joy
and monotony
of each day;

anxiety at knowing I can’t do it all,
that I will always disappoint someone;
the cold crisp air outside;
learning to structure an
unstructured day;

too much want,
and a desire to release;

learning that not enjoying
does not make me a failure;

that I can be disappointed by those I love
and still love them;

Rising is
faith
taking us
gently into each new day.

A Blessing

When I was young
a wise man told me
that I would be blessed
to see things as they
truly are.
 
It came upon me late in life
but is quite surely a blessing.
 
Of course futures are still
unknown, but I have found
myself less susceptible
to lies, particularly my own.
 
I have been undervalued,
as have we all, but there are
worse things, and I guess it has
been a motivator too, and anyway
no one is as perfect as
they want to be.
 
At a certain point I suppose
faith becomes ridiculous
but still there are nights
when I lie in bed
and pray in the dark
and quiet. Pray with
only the cats and the
coyotes awake to keep
me company.
 
I hope at least they hear me.
 
We all have a slight attachment
to suffering, which is only as
useful as we allow it to be.
 

winter days

Darkness comes so early
I don’t know what to make
of nights and days.
Time passes oddly.
Slowly and then suddenly.

I write in bed
under soft lamplight
instead of repotting
the plants in my
barefeet.

I sit at my work table
sawing over ink and copper
with a color so warm
that I almost warm
my hands by it.

Yesterday I paid a man
to stick needles in me.
I suppose we all have to
believe in something.

Brains are private places,
generally,
but sometimes I like to
invite someone
into mine.