Waits for me where I cannot deny it,
After the day is done, the agitation
For the end of things, the wrapping
Of frayed threads,
The hesitations of uncertainty.
The heavens, lasting long
Past the entanglements of living
That speak of elements;
If it falls straight into secrets
That I call my own, well then,
Into the tips of fingers.
And all its promises.
Into me; and I the better for it.
What use this struggle?
Life is given.