Monday, the day of our birth,
we loved and grieved without anticipation
the scented aura and ample music
of everything within our blurred universe.

Tuesday we beheld the beauty
of actual trees and rocks, palms
and fingers, voices, eyes.
Learned to guard against their pricks.

Wednesday we invented a fire
swaddled in mouth shapes. A pride
swelled within and was crushed. Some
chose a salve of sadness, some dominion.

On Thursday the mirror cracked.
Our trees withered or drowned.
We nevertheless denied more
than a passing interest.

By Friday we knew better. Some
lived in surrender. Some in shame only.
Some in resignation that still was blind.
Each an anchor weighing on the next.

Saturday. Did we wonder if grey skies
would part as a matter of course
or faith? Did we confuse the Sunday
of our first bliss with our last?

December 2, 2009

Categories: The Grind, Uncategorized
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