Atmospheric Disturbances

May there be an empty space in my hand, where every night a bottle – or some other means to an end – used to be.

An interstitial space between the speck of matter that is me, and the net of endless galaxies, as a minnow to a whale.

Of course the wind will still blow from the north, and I’ll still be listening to the broken record of myself,

but maybe a sound like running water will become loud enough to drown out my thoughts, helping me pay less attention to their static.

Maybe a sound like meat and vegetables frying in a pan will help untangle the knot of my mind’s dialogue, clothe my hearing in the fine silk cloth of meditation.

Helping me to accommodate change, to look willingly at truth with clarity of vision.

To encourage, if only for a moment, a little acceptance.

 

Let Me Not Wait

Let me tell you now

how much I will miss you.

Let me not spend another moment

alive on this earth with words unspoken.

Let me not wait until you are gone, as I’ve waited with so many now lost, and narrowed my eyes as withered chances blew past my flushed cheeks, lifted by a sudden wind, leaves in a wheelbarrow, carried back to the place where only a moment before, I gathered them.

As if I were trying to perform a task far too large for me,

something to test the bounds

of my mortal endurance.