Outposts in the Madness

Sketchy, walking this line 

Along the bow of disbelief

And the ballast of

Certainty and balance,
An insisting narrative

Seen from the rim of the abyss.

Whatever point is there

To any life, if one cannot

Trip along the high wire now

And then, reimagine an

Unexpected glory and 

Puzzle about it all

Right up through on the way to 

Salvation, and all the time

Thankful for 

This gift, life, 

Golden on the horizon.

Grace comes in

Draughts of light, memory, 

Joy, the carrying currents,

The maybe physics 

Of how things go along.

Motion slows, lets
Language in, words that 

Just seem right, 

Stream of seamless

Synesthesia, this world is,
As it was and is,

And I think into the 

Feeling that has nestled on

My shoulders,

Almost all is well, 

I trust that 

All is well, that 

We will get there.