—MY WAY, I’M FAR AWAY, BUT I’LL KEEP RUNNIN’

 

Mockingbird

 

The air is

perplexing

this morning,

how it both wants to

smother and love me,

mother and abort me.

I can’t see

through the

ashen sheen

clinging to the trees,

wriggling on the line,

hanging in my lungs like

a guillotine.

I might be

living a lie or

perhaps I’m just

another bruised cheek

without a hand mirror.

Tomorrow’s going to tell me

after all.

Maybe it’s inevitable,

being this bewildered

by what I’ve lost and

might have had,

when day and night

conjoin and conspire,

two halves lacking

the breath of mercy.

But I’ll find

gratitude in the gaps,

solace in inked pages,

re-shaping

what’s left of

that mockingbird

called hope.