for everything which is yes

Can that which has not
been seen be recognized–or
just stumbled into?

Time is a fierce foe
of the future-focused; and
deadlines, aptly named.

Both songs were broken,
marred by mishaps and restarts.
Each, though, found favor.

A band of bristled
trees, a field of frosted husks.
A gray, cotton sky.

It has not happened
yet. But still I will give thanks.
Bended knees aren’t weak.

I, too, will turn out
all right in the end, but mine
is a suicide.

Prostrate in a cave
blanketed black, a Godly
voice answers his call.