I change myself with untruths,
I tell lies about myself until they become
molds I can fit into, and the former truths
wither and wane
I drive alone past the lake, and the lanterns are
paralyzed fire reflected beneath the utter smooth,
the utter still. The night is the hills above the water,
where
I drive alone through October and Octobers past
I pray for peace, I pray for something to break the peace, I
pray
the Lord’s prayer a dozen times because it is not my words,
because I cannot trust my words, and breaths of prayer
settle
on the windshield, let my breath be a conduit for the truth
transcending me
I know beauty is reaching for things outside myself, it is
forgetting myself for a moment, it demands love because
it is outside self, and love is selfless. I embrace my
hollowness, I say
my thanks for it, I ask not for fulfillment but for understanding
I park at the dam, I run across the ridge and see nothing
but
a lone light settling on the water far below, falling and
free.
I hear dogs barking in the trees, I retreat into my car and
wish
I had stayed longer, run further
I let the radio soar over the contours of the road, ‘All
things grow,
All things grow,’ and I grow a little more, a little older,
I remember
looking into the swaying mirror with cider humming in my
temples,
I remember seeing how lined and weathered I will be at
fifty, at sixty
I drive at fifty, at sixty, at seventy, I slow, I slow,
I try to reconcile accepting myself and changing myself, I
try
to reconcile anything I can, I wonder if all things are too
unslowing
to ever justify leaving, forgetting, severing friendships
I drive into the fog, the radio swells, the strings
crescendo,
the bells chime for lost time, ringing a tempo for the
chorus
of all memory. The brass surges up a major scale, and I
remember
my capacity for worship, how I want to make it a ritual
without losing awe
I have been selfish, I decide to let go, but the joyful
things fall away and the
lowest weights remain. I remember to look outside myself for
everything that matters,
for everything to make me grow, but still I hold on, still I
ache, and the radio
reminds, ‘He takes and he takes and he takes.’