We are as small and strong as thimbles;
Just as easy to lose as well.
We must learn when to cradle what we carry
And when to let it slip through our fingers.
When to give our kindnesses, like handfuls of flowers on supple stems,
And how much of them we have to keep,
For our protection
We are still needed.
We are still necessary.
Even when the ground shifts and shakes
Or the path through the maze keeps leading us further away from wherever we were going,
Even when the glass breaks in our hands
Or the sky we have held up for so long is taken from us.
(I know it was heavy but it was yours, my mortal Atlas)
There is so much work left to do.
Not just here.
Not just there.
There are so many tasks still at hand.
So many ways to gild the sun until it gleams,
Or dust the moon for the fingerprints of dreamers,
And to comfort the stars, who are still afraid of the dark
After all these years.
We must save each other and ourselves and in that way, we get to save the world.
This world which has no heart of its own,
And which needs the soft fluttering of our imperfect hearts to love it.
So it can be more than one small painted rock,
In a vast universe.
It can be home.