November 1

SLOTH TOES

A sloth is known by the number of its toes not its name or love of art or music.  I can’t prevent foolish labels.  The oddest attributes draw attention and acclaim from the scorekeepers and flag-wavers of the world.  Going my way in this life I am seen by clock-watchers as timeless and by trumpeters as soundless.  I am not defined by these.  The number of my toes or the time I keep, the sound I make, is more than who I am.  An explanation of me will not fit on an index card, nameplate, or job title. As long as I stay clear of these traps and classifications I am safe.  If I buy in or fall down my sum and total will neatly fit on a toe tag.

Stand in your own light.

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Liminal

Not everything which is birthed arrives here alive;

sometimes struggle is answered with stillness.

I love thee in thy loss

for there is no life to love thee in.

Hope can be a bubble that breaks

returning to whatever it was before that perfect roundness

and yet the roundness is not a mistake.

Reflected beauty is beauty all the same.

Some sparks aren’t meant to become flames,

but their glow still warms my eye.