On my own still to new breaking waves,
steady I’ll stand, moving with current to sand.
And breathing, I breathe in, ’cause the leaving
didn’t leave me left out of seeing.
Not left out of these last years, more still,
for doors were just symbols for
already destroyed truth.
I’m shining, rising still, lifting up hands in gratitude.
Words stashed in drawers, forward facing,
writing the days that weren’t taken.