by Allison Grayhurst

           Just add upon our days

of private history

this day, that for each is different.

            Let God get us through

what vanity and determination cannot

and let spirits rise or sink,

like constellations do, given their hour.

Serpent pain, hollow time lingers

like a bad stare from a wounded heart with

bad intentions. I break doors but travel

unseen, thin as a ghost through crowds of ghosts,

placeless in this torrent sea of World.

And World alone, I beg to and compromise for

the duties of my higher heart.

Things tear inside, but I know God is here

just the same as when there was no ache

and love was fiercely felt

from all encounters.