04/06/20 Rasputin

He came to me in the magic hour

but darker,

looking like a modern Rasputin,

with tight jeans

and a vegan, latte beard;

I didn’t know if he was gonna eat me or bless me.

He said,

it’s okay to struggle,

it’s okay to not know how to be free;

it’s okay if your thoughts are on fire but have no destination,

and if you’re a cold fish,

on the mattress,

without a personal dialect at these times,

it’s okay.

don’t be a harsh warden

for your mistakes,

don’t quit fiddling with the lock on the window

if you don’t know the answers;

don’t organize your failures

around your home,

for protection,

or successes too –

I swear that the old accounting can’t save you.

It’s okay,

if you can’t imagine the future,

or when you do

you must crawl into the mouth of a blizzard and become numb;

it’s okay

if trust is a rickety swing

in the park,

that makes terrible music when you push it;

it’s okay

to mourn

and to love

an assassin;

it’s okay

if no one has left

and no one has come