Durable
There are days
when rage is a horn
and each blast blown
across a blind scree slope
echoes with fear,
a shifting clap clatter
on unstable ground.
Let it fall.
As it lands, a full curl among the
blood-red bearberry,
life’s thickened skin
opens its tender hollows,
inviting you in
to trace its seasons
grown together like tree rings,
or scales,
or the shell pocked sediment
of a stony sea floor.
So much gathers
to hold us all
around these humming inner skies,
spaces fanned by life’s
bellows
into forces far stronger, and
more powerful
than any echo.
Sound it off.
Allow your anger and fear and grief
to ricochet through you,
becoming something new.
Transform slope and leaf
and dall sheep horn
into kin,
creating stable ground
for you too are this ancient
and this durable,
your moments
marked by keratin
and cliff,
a circling ripple of storied cells
spun round a windy light,
each a foothold,
each a window
each looping back towards
freedom
with every rattling gust.
I needed this. Thank you
LikeLike
You’re welcome — I needed it too. And thank you for commenting! Wishing you well.
LikeLike