saturday
the air was hanging coldly and
cloudy; my heart seemed weak,
driving through the best parts of the state
on a journey which has always fallen
somewhere between too familiar, perfectly comfortable and anxious.
i remember finding God a year ago,
here,
He was crouching like a rabbit who knew
only to be at peace with the world and I,
I, was the shaking, scared one.
I heard once that a rabbits fear can kill it.
far be it from me to be the murderer,
living in my own personal terror of
someday becoming the murderee.
this is place is hollow and somewhat
empty but never strange,
which makes it so strange.