if a schmuck like me can do it

sometimes day starts in round middle
of thin night. with no hip for hand
to home itself upon, your beginning stretches 
threadbare and trembling taut. your day was one of moving 
earth, gravel, root and berry. your feet seek
purchase, firmament offering the sly grin of protection,
security, assurance. illusion, this is the dream you did
not have in thin night’s round middle, 
when you woke to barren bed’s warmth 
and in absence of homing hip 
placed bare feet on grain of your wood 
floor. the floor felt firm 
and you were quaking, the eagle outside
was yet to set itself to shrieking and you returned
to yesterday’s clothes in preparation for tomorrow’s
impossibilities. today began last night and continued
as you moved earth, gravel root and berry. Blue 
berry rolled fat and sheen’d in dream down 
newly torn forest path. Gravel piled upon 
berry and it is given a chance to bury 
in dormancy, to imagine itself again ripe. Jesus 
walked on water and that’s about as much
footing as you can hope to acquire as you tread
water with kicking feet, wondering at letting your head slip 
beneath ocean’s unhurried offer. your taut day started
in thin middle of gaunt night, you today moved
earth to construct path and now you admire berry 
blue, silent beneath gravel in its flourishing 
forest of bush and root and you might just dip your head 
beneath the water on which Jesus walked so that you might
cautiously step out onto the howling of groundless 
path, you might just dip your head 
under water and perhaps when you re-emerge round 
and ripened you might be one breath 
closer to a place where you relinquish your terror
of erasure. 

Published by Zak

an intertidal island in an ocean of impermanence.

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