A Fortunate Day

On a fortunate day,
when night and day meet,
and some silence passes between
them with no enmity, no battle,
as the green field climbs, grasses
rising gold in the edges of the sun,
the path appears before you,
well laid and inviting.
You’re sure it wasn’t here before,
though something in you
knows it always was, always
will be. The strength in your legs
returns to you, your body
straightens, your nose sniffs
the air. There is nothing beyond you.
You kneel and empty your pockets,
your bag. There’s no need for
these keys or this wallet. This
fear that has worn you out,
what use is it now? The old photos—
you can feel something tear, just
a bit, like a leaf leaving its
tree. There, you say. Maybe
somebody else can use them.
But the sun is rising higher now,
and the warmth. And there’s a long
way to go, but your feet,
confident, already know the way.

Posted by kind permission of the poet.
Image by Jan Marco Gessinger.