too much of anything is a bad thing-
when I told her of how my teenage cousin
touched me when I was three,
a Buddhist monk with that mantra
squeezed my hand gently.
she saw the glow
overflowing in my eyes
and nodded, as the minutes rolled by
the overcast skies in her gaze
were relieving.
they reminded me that
the restraints are only
as strong as I resist,
so my hands pried
themselves from promise
and my fingers reached
the wisdom clouds above us.
they drew the rain
and let the glowing flood
be just fine.