Heavy

The wood was heavy today, my
shoulders tired, my neck sore, the
yoke bit-in and I was not sure
I could do any more in this place.

We said goodbye to Epiphany
and I presented myself
in the Temple of the Lord, hoping
not to be judged - for
I could not stand.

I left my prayer-flame on the
altar and wished for many
things I cannot have:  all
are gone from me, unplanned.
My dear face is getting old
and all my limbs will give way
to time.

Such sorrow is living:  it is
hard to see the point, impossible
to keep a closed hand for
everything is let loose like rope
and it burns as it leaves.

She is not here to talk to, and
hard is the night, and long,
that leads out from your own
person to something greater
which you do not understand.

previous poem

next poem