I could play the guitar
just barely and I would try
when we’d arrive home
all liquor dilated, hearts
more capable of loving.
As far as I can tell, there’s nothing
that lights me up like this
once did. The magic in my life
is quieter now, but grace,
once parsimonious, now crackles
through my circuits: microscopic
wildflowers in my rushing blood.
I hear it in the right side of early mornings
the bright side, long past my vice
slide to the bottom of the sea.
Call this “Forgiveness,” “my thirties,” “God.”
What was it that held me there
and now has let me go?
So little happens on a given day
but I feel lucky, standing solid gold
outside the event horizon.