Oh, how I would love to speak to animals in the manner of St. Francis.

Ends of things

are pregnant with endless possibility
and finite impossibility.


At the end,
I will find

freedom

to move as I choose.

However

I lose

that stability that I prized perhaps
too little

when I had it.

I'm not really sure what happens afterwards,
but I (secretly) hope that it's great.

When I wake up
in the morning with the sun
sometimes
I crave Greatness.


Lately,
I have become
facinated by the saints.

All of those stories
All of that glory.

Never their own.
Ever.