Cycle- a poem

cycle
(8/09)

breaking down the word- the world, into tiny scraps and fragments
pieces of a human shell
jagged and torn
we put back together with glue
and bits of ingenuity
and hope they fit
but usually
no

breaking down the thought- the train- the tossing and turning of words and images
in hope of creating one
single
thing
but creation is never simple
isn't that the truth

breaking down the questions- into smaller ones- into half-questions- into
huh
and
what
and
how
but never
answered

the sky is a light silver, today
and the rain falls down as if from a lawn sprinkler
quickly and delicately

my thoughts race
about the state of the future
and sustaining a family, a home, and a life

when will I let the rain in to my pacing/racing brain?
When will I let the peace into my being and breathe deeply?
When will it ever be enough?