The earth shook itself awake this morning.
With a low-key grumble and heavy embodied motion
our Russian nesting cat dolls fell, one by one.
The mountains had no comment.
We took a collective breath as the clouds lined up like teeth.
Moving gently is a familiar technique to memorialize hope, to witness beauty.
This occupation of time and resolve has been emboldened by necessity.
I’m about to confess everything to you: I was saved by the grace of Sassy.
Santayana, the philosopher, said history is nothing but recorded dreams.
The poet Stafford said divine is more of a claim. Those stanzas are now trending.
There is a way to be in this world and this must be it.