Today yes is letting
my hands hang limp—
though it’s less
that I choose to not use them,
more that life insists.
Yes has lost its leaves.
Yes wears no shoes.
Yes is a winding road
with no guard rails,
no pull outs, no passing lane.
Yes feels like one leg extended
over a high desert cliff,
the other about to join it midair.
It tastes like black tea
steeped too long
with no milk.
It tastes like the meal
I didn’t order,
but was served
and told to eat.
Yes is the song
with a one-word lyric
that now I can only hum.
And if yes is a drum,
I stumble along.
And if yes says
Square your shoulders,
the best I can do today is be cloud.
The best I can do today is rain.