Every day you fight to get out of a world you never made
Maybe there are no great victories so you celebrate the
Little ones.  Soon enough you realize This is your life; it is
A process and you are in it; and so you say with a laugh
You call this living well maybe the worst is over. This may
Be less than  repentance; this resignation but there is a charity
In having lost what you would not lose there is still a way
So what your dead you say there is still a way forward
Fever felled you rise again and again  in the in between-
Still in the process making a gesture on the Grecian urn
The lover ever chasing the green child that is and is not.
There is peace in doing what you do; anticipation in the
Constant;  in the moment before you will hold your love.
Is there a greater Joy than this then I do not know it...