Relative Something

.

.

seemingly insignificant questions linger
delicately
amid all else happening
as day upon day slams past
despite our failing effort to fully grasp
how simple everything really is
like how relatively fast the ice is melting
and how often fresh oil is needed in the car
or why I can’t part with an impression
I developed when I was a kid
of a dream girl who actually lives in my dreams
by showing up every now and again
even though I’m beyond that by far
as if something that I never did
might somehow render the glorious scenes
I have in fact quite consciously lived
not as real as I know that they are

.

.

.

Sleep can be
slippery
to grasp
in amounts
desired
for the healing
a body does
while at rest
because
activity
of the day
consumes
hours at a time
leaving
morsels
for what have you
until the night
overtakes
and the slide
past that bedtime
whizzes by
once again

.

.

.

A story that waits to be told
unfolds quietly
in the hours made up of days
little things
like the glance that speaks louder than words
the dreariness of the day to day
the outburst
over revelations
of having been violated all along
when the one that was trusted
turns out to be
a spy

.

.

.

wading
into the water
that is Sunday morning
immersed in blessings
beneath layers of blankets
inside the room looking out
at bright sunshine
on crisp below zero snow
enjoying the transition
of one song into the next
not simply
because we can
although that is true
but because
I simply must
to feel the hope
that lies here with me
feeding my soul
the things I can’t
even though I want to
for the rest of every day
of my life

.