There are days I drag through, head down
through the deaths of my red dogs,
the oxymoron of religious war,
lists of going-extinct songbirds,
and the sonic bombardment of whales
in war games.
These gumbo muds stick in my stout boots,
tar-goo I cannot shuck off with knives of steel
or wipe clean with rags of woe.
Then another time, when I skip
in the fleeting glimmer of golden leaves,
rejoice in the sweat of a well-danced body,
when I watch whales move through gray waters
as they have done for tens of thousands of years,
or smell onions in stew, cinnamon in pie
this is when I remember
for better or for worse
words we said
that round out
your patience with my sadness.
Visitant 
This is such a beautiful piece @triciaknoll. I am always in this stasis of of trying to maintain my love and wonder for the world while also mourning the ecological losses caused by human presence. Ah, but still we wake up every day and try to greet the day with fresh eyes and renewed hope as we fumble towards balance.
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