If in a breath the light still to be drawn,
have the courage to be thankful. I was sorting
through my fits and starts of writing that have
accumulated in the new millennium. I found a sharp
retort to a job I took, tried, and failed at after three days.
I had a wealth of uneasy feelings to respond to
as a complete novice on a house framing crew.
I notice my documentary writing sparkles with life
compared to trying to echo a poet. My best friend told me
the same thing after an open mic where I nearly brought
a poet to life although I wasn't sure he was myself.
He brought me down to the ground telling me,
"You're hallucinating a lot of this stuff."
It woke me up.
I slashed files on New Year's Eve. Four years ago
I completed a book. It was painful to read the polish
of four years ago although I respect the effort of the entries.
I've spent a decade searching a frightened animal, but when
I found him he had curled up and died. I am left with the thin
payoff of a trace of who might have been talking to me.
The best losers are not bitter. The value of those transitory words
is priceless. I found voicing although I may not have secured voice.
I learned over Christmas that my rotten moods are followed up
and followed through with new beginnings.