The Next Day

Tonight you will dream yourself into a highwire act
free of goblins prowling the edges
unraveling the net.
You will wake to winter’s striped sky
last seen when the world was still green.
You will robe your fingers
in silver
gloss your lips
with greeting
free a trickle of light
from the rusted tap
you have to use a wrench
to turn on.

Tomorrow you will unearth crayons
crusted from burial
to color in lines
you’ve drawn over the erasures.
You will bake bread
that does not rise
but fills the derelict cabin
of your senses
with softness.

Tomorrow, knowing the danger of making plans,
you will make plans.

Tomorrow you will remember that today
was yesterday
that you are one day past the path
of washouts and stinging nettle
you turned from
even though there is no guarantee
of smoother terrain
even though you are ill prepared
and poorly supplied
for the climb ahead
it is the one you’ve chosen
the one whose sign
emerges from inside a circle of stones
glass now ground to dust
reflecting tiny rainbows onto every surface
including the skin of birch and aspen
stripped of leaves
and tucked with promise
including the skin of your own trunk
raw with loss
and embedded with riches
a sign carved with your name
your name
yours
this way
go