i dissolve back into
distinctness,
bringing with me
the baggage of being,
hauling over my shoulder
the work and worries of
personhood.
Still, having shed the skin
of the old week,
i am made new--
find new possibilities,
new meaning;
not merely in life,
but even in the breath
that builds it.
Each fallen leaf,
Each gust of
Autumn wind,
Conveys a world
In its presence --
What is my small satchel
Of worries,
Compared to this
Constant presence
Of peace?
--Mr. Gobley
