Awakening, again into this

dirty hands, bruised knuckles

flesh scraped and scarred

by the rough edges

of the processes of

self determination

one day, one week, one year

of this,

a lifetime of separating out

the inconsequential, the irrelevant

the draining and

repetitive from the

precious few moments of

pristine creation

one mile, a million miles

or none at all,

the distance just as unimportant

as the rest of it

It can be impossible sometimes

to carry that, and to be

mindful of those brief

sparks of magic

but it has to be done,

and in turn,

it carries you instead

through and over all...

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