in the mornings
and in the evenings,
existence is a little easier,
but it eases up the eaves
like a light breeze,
not like a tidal wave
on the pedestrian beach,
which is what we expect.
feeling a bit better
comes when you realize
you no longer
feel like garbage,
but you can't remember
the moment it stopped
hurting and started
healing.
moving on is a tricky process
of starts and stops,
where you want something so bad,
but then when you get it
you don't even realize
it has happened,
and you are already
looking in the rear view.
for me,
it comes out
in silly poems
that don't quite capture
the sense of reflection
mixed with surprise hope
in mornings and evenings
that are just subtly easier than the last.