Unedited

"Unedited"

(“The sun of righteousness will dawn on those who honor my name, healing radiating from its wings. You will be bursting with energy, like colts frisky and frolicking.” Malachi 4:2 [The Message])

I felt the fog and saw the fresh lather
left overnight on the morning grass.
I sleep past sunrise and waste my worries
looking for swooping angels to snatch me away
from the dim displays painted within this chipped
and gilded
frame.

I don’t ask for more than the promise, although
I cry for lack of enough notice to plan ahead for the
spans ahead of silence, stumbles and hesitation.
I prefer thunderstorms to icy mornings.

I can blame more things than one,
and add to the list if forced by hand,
but the steps I’ve taken are my steps alone;
some simple half-steps slowed by fear, many
appear leaps until eyes have turned elsewhere.

I can write my melancholy on the sunniest day,
pen it, paper it, erase it, crumble it, resheet it
and write it the same all over again.
Why change what I write with the first thought
when the changes are my inner edits to
take the edge off.

I can write my melancholy on the giggling beach,
pen it and paper, like I’ve just stated. The afternoon beams
are the reason for my tears (why would anyone cry on
a day like this?). The afternoon wings me to slower dusk
when tears are hidden by the longer shadows of inattention.

Later than years and further than time I know
the damage is done. Deeper than seeing and
stiller than wings on the soft sky I know
the change will come.

You saw my tears, yesterday, didn’t you?
You had no idea what to say, and wondered
(as I do, my friend) why I would cry when
loved and laden with gifts.

You did not cause them, nor the slivers
from backyard growing up fences. I’m waiting
for the sunlight to take me from pretense to
senses of immense joy on the wings of Righteousness
written
once unedited.