Today I was a morning riser.
I climbed the mountain of a poem.
I watched the world from the summit;
something gnawed inside me.
I lost a chunk of faith.
I hated hope; its thinness.
Today I was a fugitive of justice.
Silence humbled me, grinning.
I met the raw side of grace.
I distrusted compassion.
I stepped outside of my self, a little.
Today I slept on a stone pillow and
thought of the things we lose and
the things we keep and the things stuck
somewhere in the middle.
I laughed with a bank robber;
his heart was scarred, but beautiful.
Today love found me tight-wiring the line
between holding on
and letting go—-
a cut running straight through me,
like an arrow through a cartoon heart—-
left me leaking
all the unnecessary things.
Today I love more deeply…
you, me, the evening air,
the fall leaves.
(c) 2015 by Mick Albright