Interim with salty eyes and a slowness
that comes with the hollow sadness
that nips at our calves like we’re
little girls again, disturbing the grasshoppers
of summertime with our stamping feet.
This buoyant heart is from God,
even if I don’t know him too well these days.
This lightness in my cage of bones is
growing.
You are a thief of heavy things and
you fling them off the highest hill
until we are small again, and our souls
aren’t haunted.
We stand, hand in hand, with our faces
to the breeze. You say,
“Brace yourself for the joy.”
and I believe you.