Invisible Hope

It can be dark,
dark as night.

It can be thick, and damp, and endless.

And you can be sitting there,
in the dark
in the cold

crying into your bowl of cereal, aching
for a new life.

Then an hour later you might sense a brightness
coming in, through the corner of your eye.

And when you turn toward the window
you’ll be startled

at the miracle of daylight

from a horizon you had forgotten about, because
you were reading a book. Because you were drying your face,
and wiping your nose, and thinking about Brandon Flowers.

Because you had nothing, nothing whatsoever
to do with that sunrise—

that golden shining—that sweet
caramel apple sun,

in the first place.

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