There is a pounding in the chest,
a faucet at the pores,
a deflated self-confidence,
a slow dance viewed from the wall.
There is a brightness so blinding,
a boom so deafening,
a chatterbox so muting,
a relationship that lives in abuse.
There is a movement in the lawn,
a bird in the tree,
a squirrel on the fence,
a cat in quest of a hunt.
There is a vacancy in the womb,
a longing to conceive,
a desperation to pro-create,
a prohibiting reminder that is flowing.
There is a machine to purify,
a food consumption ritual,
a phone call in the night,
a kidney that is ready for new life.
There is a forgiveness freely given,
a peace beyond understanding,
a hope not of this world,
a name that is written in the Book of Life.