might

Cling to the skin you were given, whatever tender miracle, whatever feckless gaffe. Hold to the course of the ephemeral constant, that flare and dim of every impact. The sound beatings and the drizzled kisses, the dead endings and apostasies, the dreary fantasy and the startling fact. Endure these dismal words, and the duller ones to follow. As long as there may be more, there is might.

The wide open hours tend to devour the less than ready mind. I am always a couple octaves off, always a few steps behind. The slowed clock and the blue mood will team up on me, beat me down with facts and conjecture. Nothing pretty can happen from assessing the self in impasse and upon precipice. Count the coins in the pocket. The notches on the bridge. Watch airplanes drift across possibility, satellites fall and fall. The only memories that come to mind are brutal at best.

I close my eyes and the tide comes in. All the silly trappings of self, the bright ideas and the rude awakenings. The trials failed again and again. The missteps and the calendar girls, that wound that will not heal. This is what is made of mostly water. Gifts squandered and blessings undone. Know that I would still hold you, though I am ruined. Know that there is no reset, but the life left is still sticking. Just because I'm no good at the game doesn't mean I am done playing.