Day After Day

Day after day, the sun falls into the horizon,
grazes the water, sends sparkling ripples
running towards me to the shore.
My two hands reach into the sea
and hold it, hold
the life it sustains
but cannot sustain the life it holds.

Generous embraces and comforting words barely reach me, instead,
they cling to my hair like the ribbons I always wanted
for Christmas as a child.

These foreign winds carry parts of me away
like dandelion seeds drifting from their slender stem
into new beginnings
and old ends…

I feel like I’m a mask moving across a black stage,
deliberately uncertain, seemingly unseen,
as I reach into the grassy meadows,
into the warm soil, and as my fingers get entangled in the roots
I want just one thing:
to open up that dusty book,
take that dewy pen,
to write poetry,
and to pray.

And to pray.