every single thing

i saw it as
i came around the bend
of that moment

sharp chill of sunrise
slanted angle of light

morning magic
sleight of hand
the way it deceives the eyes

but perhaps it tells the truth
in its way of slow reveal

i could barely make the shape
my attention took the bait

drew me close
right down to ground

i looked so as to see

this broken thing
before me

beaded slipper
torn open at the toe

discarded

beautiful as any broken piece
of my own being

i have cast away

seeing it i wept
for what i left behind
around the certain bends
that have come and gone in life

and perhaps that is all
worn out and laid to waste

a pilgrim seeking myself
having traveled so far

ripped and ragged now

i searched for some reason
for such a cruel reality

that perhaps loss is a sacrament
and what remains is enough

 what is broken is still sacred

a little further on
the temple kept its vigil

there standing firm
sparkling in new born sun

i walked to its gate
breathing in incense

the chiming of a bell
a lone voice chanting

a language i do not know
but i understand

it sings
every single thing is holy