I am

the best of the times        I am the worst of times

I am the morning light caught in the mist above the grass

I am wounded darkness bleeding into the horizon

I am water, pooling in a muddy hollow, where a small bird sips

I may be the cat that will leap, breaking the bird’s fragile bones

I am the flight of crows climbing and the vulture in their wake

I am what I know and what I have forgotten, as my mother did

Whatever I am, it is all of this

the hard and the heart-filled

the hungry and the replete. All that I am brims from emptiness

whispering this too I am. This that you seek, this that you fear.