When he wakes up each morning
It takes him a while to remember
the nightmare has been banished
from his waking world
Though it had sat there many years,
a dense cloud that dulled all light,
dead weights along his limbs,
a constant punch of dread against his gut,
It isn’t here now.
It’s gone.
There is a light scent of sunlit dew,
of snow from distant mountains,
There is a catch of breath
and a bubble rising
from somewhere deep within,
There is a new day,
and the power of his ancient balance
reclaimed
There is love to live
and life to love,
and it is plenty.
Yes, it is enough.
©Wendy Mulhern
December 21, 2013