Hope

The unicorns did not come

to rescue me today

as I had hoped.

Earth and sky did not rend,

ushering me into

a mother's tender embrace.

The tears I've collected

did not turn into a potion

whisking my pain away.

The darkness I found

inside my eyelids did not

remove the quilt of dread

laying heavy on my heart,

so I went to sit

with someone else

whose pain I felt

from a distance;

a pain so different from mine,

I could hardly believe

it shared a common thread.

As we sat, letting all

but silence fall away,

something larger but lighter

settled in and around us;

something uncomfortable

in its familiarity,

so close was it that, at first,

intimacy tilted toward intimidation.

Time rolled on, though neither

of us could discern its flow,

until our anxiety grew tired

of keeping guard,

finally standing down,

so our being known unfolded

into a sense of knowing

that had no desire

to keep score;

a horse content to graze

in the pasture of now,

neither pining for fields

long plowed under,

nor leaning hard into the fence

holding tomorrow at bay.

It was here that rhythm settled in,

heartbeats slow but strong,

breaths deep and long.

This is the vigil we keep,

though the longer we keep it,

the more we feel it keeping us.

No longer fearing

the sun's failure to rise,

we face the shrouded east

with a power so strong yet tender,

it can be no other

than the self of love,

in whom the roots

of hope are firmly grounded.

© 2016 Todd Jenkins