a sadness comes in
inexplicable
no less even more
painful because of that.
no explanation, same inconsistencies and doubts, same stilted insecurities and fragile sense of
rooting
drying out reaching for the ground water
can one accept this struggle continuing as it seems to without end
as the way it is
I don’t think the prophets or sages
Christ or Buddha put down such words nor
lifted up such ambiguity as the way
we need to look to a word for our ages to change the
tides that fill the bucket line
topple the edges and afford
the likes of me something rich to dig into