wednesday, third september

this place is a fucking mess
an accurate but unflattering
reflection of my state of mind
by which i mean only
that there are things scattered
everywhere and my bed is unmade
not that i feel broken, overwhelmed
or undone — only scattered

i sit stretching on the well used
carpet by my stereo

and the daylight ending outside
turns everything grey
later i know it will all be shaped
differently but for the moment
i am just here and aware
of the one article of faith
that my doubt tests most severely,
thus maybe the one thing i truly believe

that there is sufficiency

in moments unto themselves
connections gained and lost,
redeemed and impossible to hold,
in love imperfectly expressed
in our openness to being destroyed by the world

not promised,
but at least possible.

tags: topics/poem

p1k3 / 2003 / 9 / 3