God, my heart is pounding against my ribs like a train set to derail off the tr-tr-tr-tracks.
Am I sick? Am I dying? Am I breathing?
I know I’m breathing ‘cuz my respiration and my perspiration are keeping time with the thump-thump-thump of a heart that may never know another Easter.
Still,
I walk and listen,
listen and create,
create and write,
write and breathe,
breathe and be.
Selah (inhale) Selah (exhale) Selah
Be still and let your words be few.
Know that you are never alone.
I am in the howling wind and the weeping willow.
God laments, too.
Poem and photo of Olympic National Park both by Anton Flores-Maisonet.
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