I am not going to waste this day
on doubt, illness.
This day is like a giant stone,
found in dirt,
hard in the soft mud.
It almost fills my palm,
a fractured face,
like a carousel surrounding
a sound within itself.
This day has a secret terrible destiny
in it.
If I turn my back its paths will disappear.
There will be nothing to break my heart
with the shudder of its love.
I will remain empty of the dreams
that would have unfolded.
My soul will die of starvation.
The stone will remain uncut and blind.
I will be angry if you waste me,
the day threatened.
I will cry you to death.
I will hang around your neck
like a noose of unfilled promises,
but if you use me,
I will cherish you,
and explode inside you,
and thunder with praise,
saying, I’m glad to be alive.
I will not waste this gift,
and someone’s hand
curling around mine will say,
I’m glad you’re alive,
you make my day!