Commas, Maybe?

The silence from this corner is not because I’m bored, or depressed, or too busy. Things tumbleĀ  about in my head, but they don’t need to see daylight yet.

This is a period where

It feels like

everything I

say

or write

must not end

with a

.

but with a

,

or

?

The words I have declared now feel

less sure.

The sacred and beautiful things

are still all of that,

but I feel I can say nothing,

write nothing,

except to end it with a

question or disclaimer or comma.

A few things I know.

They are great, glad statements that arch over the questions. These things I know and they have no question marks.

I think everything else is sand.

Shifting.

Ending in a comma because each new thing adds to the

sequence.

Each orbit of the sun reveals a new

aspect to acknowledge.

Each bit of truth adds

understanding

so that I can

never

be wholly sure of what I’ve seen.

I can’t see myself completely ,

never mind someone else

or my surroundings.

It means living with an open hand,

not clenching anything in my fist,

not refusing new things.

Being sure only of my God

in whose hand I am,

and only His words are

final.