A tenacious, invasive cold-flu that slammed me in early January slowed me way down. Then there’s the new political landscape in the U.S.A. to contend with, which I, along with many others, have found truly disturbing.

I’m feeling much better now, but I was so deflated throughout January and most of February that my plans for the new year turned to pixie dust blown away to parts unknown. Now begins the work of reclaiming the magic that fuels and sustains through all of life’s ups and downs. Imagination. Without it, where would we be?

I’m going to share a dark poem I wrote. I think it nails the state I’ve been in lately. It expresses a moment in time, not a permanent state, which makes me think, is anything permanent anyway?

Hopes

hopes in bonfire
burning bright
stabbing high
the night sky

what kind of fuel
are these dreams

like footprints
forgotten
washed away

light when latent
just a whisper,yet
tossed to flames:
fury disbursed

lash, lash what could
have been, what never
was, what cannot
come to be

 

Photo by Andre Gonsalvez.

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