Testament

child, in the august of your life you come barefoot to me the blisters of events having worn through to the soles of your shoes. it is not the time this is not the time there is no such time to tell you that some pains ease away on the ebb & toll of themselves. there is no such dream that can not fail, nor is hope our only conquest. we can stand boldly in burdening places (like earth here) in our blunderings, our bloomings our palms, flattened upward or pressed, an unyielding down.