Every day a new wound,
some new hurt I could
not have prepared for
that wallops me. Every
day I wonder, how long
can it go on like this?
Every day, it goes on.
How does it go on?
It festers. It chafes.
I ask the grass in the field,
the algae in the river,
the lichen on the rock.
It goes on, they say.
It’s never the same,
but it always goes on.