during a process
a mistake
a break in routine
a darkness falls again
into my life
a stone of pure gloom
I know well

as that rock strikes
it hurts to breathe
as always the air goes crisp
and sharp

I am no Stoic

if there’s something
to be learned
from the darkness
this time
I must plead
for it to be
soft learning this time
let it be
a gentle lesson
let there be
no pain
no pain
at all

As soon as I can
I’ll strike the tent,
douse the flames,
set out on the path.
With the moon’s slant light
through the trees
to walk by
and stream beds
to lead me down
from the hills,
I will not be lost
once on the way.

I will step out of the woods
to the edge of a place
I once left in rage.

What will come next?

I can’t help it —
I must find out.
When this is in me
I can’t help but move
the way moths
strike at a hot light;

this time
I may come
to the same end
as a moth,

but as I said,
it can’t be helped.