in this,
when the sky and sun have left me,
when everything smothers me, leaves it harder to breathe,
when there is only tired eyes and heavy burdens,
when this poetry is something forbidden,

then i look
for the small things.
a glass of water. a breath of air.
the good music.
the dog’s footsteps, soft.
a working pen, a clearer mind.
how the clock takes her time.

so i shake my shoulders, gentle.
i’ve got this, i think.
i can. i can. i can.

it will be all right
at the end of this.
it will be better
in the morning sun.