slow and steady

You carved our initials

into these family trees.

but when the branches are bare and broken,

love is so hard to reach.

we've learned to brace for the worst

and to read the last pages first,

surrender feels safe.

maybe the soul is the soil that holds the fallen seed,

or the light pouring down in between the rain clouds,

daring life to reach;

or maybe it's the rings in the trunk of the tree,

a birthmark time will leave

to measure the past.

but we can't dream when we're wide awake

or fall in love with a heart too strong to break.

faith is expensive to taste,

and time is borrowed loose change

that's already been spent.

maybe the soul is the tone of voice

that unearthed the words that we needed...

maybe the soul is a suitcase that holds the backup plan -

a collection of keys and the patience we need

to start again.

maybe it's the thresholds that swallow us whole

as we learn to let go,

in spite of the dirt on our clothes.