today, sunday is for reading poetry
but yesterday was for breathing heavy
maybe tomorrow is for walking
for searching
for listening to the sounds that the wind makes
like a nurse on a cigarette break
like children two parents raise
maybe tomorrow is for singing to you
in a voice so heartbreakingly small
it makes souls shake
maybe tuesday is for calling my grandfather
for feeding on the genius of humble experience
for drinking in the songs of decades before me.
maybe wednesday is for resting
resting like reflections on a river's face
always in the same place
but moving, vibrating, dancing
maybe thursday is when it rains too hard
and the house is too cold to be comfortable
maybe the thunder makes the dogs bark
and the echo of a leaky sealing screams at me
"you'll never be as much as you hoped you'd be"
but on friday mornings, i'll watch the flowers grow
i'll walk down a new street looking for a child's face
and tugging on his confidence like shoe strings
because he deserves to know he can run
and run faster than he ever dreamed
maybe saturday is for breathing heavy
but maybe for better reasons
maybe in the setting sun,
when i can see an alive love in the corners
of the cashiers mouth,
maybe thats too much
maybe my lungs swell up
maybe sunday night
when i've finally let the poems aside
you'll ask me again,
"what is life?"

what is life.
maybe this time i'll smile
i'll smile because we both know
we just forget sometimes
life isn't,
we are.
maybe sunday night is for changing the way you ask questions
because the first one didn't bring the right answer
maybe it's time we asked what it is to be alive.
because we know, oh you know
the answer is there in that little gasp the stars steal on the darkest nights
and in the look of a mother's eyes
its that feeling in your chest, the one that feels like the wings of tiny blue birds
drumming to a song that our ears don't know how to hear over the engines of cars
but a song that our eyes see, in the lights of a city at midnight
to be alive is to feel the pain that comes with knowing you're far away
but also knowing that that pain exists because you,
you're the match of my creation, if only for this moment.
to be alive is love the sunrise
because even when it is too much for your tired eyes,
even when you broke during the night,
the sun comes to set it right.

show me what it means to be alive
it never stops
it goes on like a river,
finds it's way into an ocean
it continues like pages of poetry,
the songs that a heart sings,
a mind stitching up dreams.
today sunday is for reading poetry
but yesterday was for breathing heavy.