Even in my weighted need to stand back up,
in my not care, care
not wholly there,
but holy there—
I made my way to the top of the ledge at the bottom of the mountain.
and every step an effort
to move beyond the shadowed path,
to reach the bony ledge,
to hold the fading sun
with dirty hands
as the full moon began its rise.
as a poet stands,
between two kinds of heartbreak
goodbye and hello