The day dawned as it always does,
milky light nuzzling the drapes
then leaking through the cracks like love
in a time of grief. I want to meet
this moment with arms swung wide open,
a gate that welcomes everything—
but dread rusts the hinges, and fear keeps
the latch from popping free. As usual,
I’m called to see hope where it seems
there is none, just as I must trust that
inside rain-slick, stripped-bare branches
wait the buds of new leaves, ready to
burst forth, like a happiness that doesn’t
depend on what happens.
—James Crews
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