Job 22

Some days, I have very little strength.
Other days, nothing.
Not even the ability to forget, or to remember
how to move or be.
A body collapsed, but not yet buried.
I consider, Maybe this is where the road stops.
Maybe this is the end. 
The business of life.
I think about experiences, I think about people,
and accept the unsaid, the unfinished
the questions without answers. 
In so doing, a weight is lifted. 
I lay motionless on the side of the road,
beaten by the elements.
He finds me where I am,
wraps me in his cloak
leans me against his own strength,
and, together, 
we continue moving.


---

²⁶ Then you will take delight in the Almighty
    and look up to God.
²⁷ You will pray to him, and he will hear you,
    and you will fulfill your vows to him.
²⁸ You will succeed in whatever you choose to do,
    and light will shine on the road ahead of you.

-Job 22: 26-28 NLT

She breathes.

The sick man from his chamber looks

At the twisted brooks;

He can feel the cool

Breath of each little pool;

His fevered brain

Grows calm again,

And he breathes a blessing on the rain.

-Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, 

passage from "Rain in Summer" 

She endures.

A man worn down by time, 
a man who does not even expect death . . . 
a man who has learned to express thanks
for the days' modest alms:
sleep, routine, the taste of water . . . 
a man who is aware that the present
is both future and oblivion,
a man who has betrayed
and has been betrayed . . .

He knows better than to look at it closely . . .
that wretchedness is his duty,
but he accepts humbly
this felicity, this glimmer.

Perhaps in death when the dust
is dust, we will be forever
this undecipherable root . . .

-Jorge Luis Borges,
passages from "Someone" found in Poems of the Night

Dear Self,

. . .

I stood in front of the camera today.
Maybe I sat.  
I wanted to capture the girl who once was.
Or at least try.
Because I needed honesty.  
Need honesty.
It's been a while.
A long while actually.
I kind of forgot how she looks.