A Morning Without Disaster

Maybe the cosmos isn't out of tune.

Maybe you're out of tune with your own

broken heart.

Let the sun take a Sabbath today.

No flares, no drama.

The stars recline in orbits of repose

like elders on a summer porch

in white wicker couches.

The constellations wander

whirling their parasols

without going anywhere really.

Look, it's happening again,

just as it did one moment ago,

the gentle flow of a silent stream

you never slow down enough

to float on.

Right here, for a little while,

there is no apocalypse,

just a gentle revelation

beneath your breastbone

in the valley between breaths.

Wash your doom away

with gentle tears.

It's not the end, or the beginning,

just another day on earth,

a world where every sparrow

is an empath,

every fawn an indigo child

with star-splashed fur.

Maybe this is the morning

to celebrate your slightly bonkers

yet uniquely kiltered bones,

these fingertips, these eyes

that let there be light.

Because you are here.

You've arrived in this moment.

You're a survivor.