River’s Edge

I thought I was listening
or maybe the angels didn’t speak loud enough
or my ridges were
far too rough.
In the early days of giving a fuck
and my current state of
I am enough
I collide with miles
that have passed.
Like payphones and hope
unabashed.

We are symbols of what is left,
small hands
and hearts unkempt.
We are safety on the river’s edge
teetering between letting go
and tomorrow’s ledge.

I’m listening.

Speak in the words that make sense,
that pull me
and this world
from the jaded fence.
Sing the power of humanity’s hand
and remind us
we can.
Let them in.

All of them.

I’m listening.
Beyond the rough
and passed the broken.
Breaking through energy’s wall,
offering healing hands
to break this fall.

*Photo by William Woodward