We can’t help but dream
of what we don’t have:
light at night, darkness
at the end of days.
What genius to know that
we’ll never escape
ourselves, what just reward
to keep coming back
to live in what’s leftover.
It doesn’t hurt to invest
time in a nest, to create
space for the soul—
offer something for the gods
to hang on their wall.
We can’t help but dream
of what we can’t control.
drycrikjournal 