A Note Left on the Door
There are these: the blue
skirts of the ocean walking in now, almost
to the edge of town,
and a thousand birds, in their incredible wings
which they think nothing of, crying out
that the day is long, the fish are plentiful.
And friends, being as kind as friends can be,
striving to lift the darkness.
Forgive me, Lord of honeysuckle, of trees,
of notebooks, of typewriters, of music,
that there are also these:
the lover, the singer, the poet
asleep in the shadows.
I feel continually that I am all asunder, veering between rash optimism and feverish gratitude to discouraged, irritable, and mad at the world. Thank God for the people who love me regardless; that is all I have left to say. Thank you for loving the best me even when I'm behaving at my worst.