I'm not hard,
I'm scared.
I thought the cherry was the birch.
When the cloud cleared
I was still afraid.

At my best
I accept death
As a necessary search, wary
Of philosophies
That assign us souls but not the trees.

Nonetheless
I want long life, yes,
I want to plant my seed and walk the wilderness.
But not yet.
First I must just sit.

Sit and feel the pain
That keeps me sane.
Eat my meal quietly and remain
A guest
In the body I know best.

This morning in the east
The sun rose on the lake. Again
I breathed. I was blessed
And thought to say
Life is not a curse.