I my teacher.
It is all I have.
The truth suffers in me,
but it is better
than a lie.
I do not lie to myself.
Or only a little.
Sometimes to save my sanity.
Truth allows me stories.
So I am my teacher.
I explore winters
inside me.
Look through woods
shorn of their leaves.
See the arteries of creation.
Watch heaven fall about me
in the snow.
Where I can lie,
virginal,
never to be erased,
and have a chance,
to be light,
within light.