Dagaz

Beyond

        what

         holds

  where

   edges

       thin

and

    the breath

       forgets

    its way

and

   the body

           freezes

   and

       only a tremor

    can be felt

         in the tips

     of fingers

         searching

for warmth

searching

      for an anchor,

searching

          for

       grounding.

In the absence

   something

         unseen

     begins

         to stir,

       longing 

   shifting

into an unsteady

         spiral

              down

         voices caught

    in closed rooms

strip our stories

   to the bare place

        where finally

      we sit

the old question

                rising

         without sound

why have you forsaken me?

And in this letting

    something shifts

   the smallest amount

not light,

not release,

not yet,

only the sense

that something

has loosened.

As pilgrims,

  we walk

      this edge

                 often,

learning the

      slow movement

between what is

and what was,

to pause

and steady,

to wait,

    held

between

  the turning,

  chosen

  or

broken

         consider

   how in nature

         nothing despairs

not the branches

         in winter,

not the stone

         in the riverbed,

not the morning

   before it knows

it is day.