It’s like a zen garden:
Shake and shift, remake the patterns.
Put down stones.
Nothing is permanent, even stones.
They move. They split into pieces, roll away.
The gardener shakes and shifts
and starts again.
Each morning is the same:
Look at the day, choose this and not that.
Shake and shift.
Remake the patterns. Set the stones.
The day breaks, moves out of my grasp.
The garden disappears in confusion;
I trace new patterns
and start again.
Each day, start again.
Each day, try again.
Each day, believe again.
One foot in front of the other.
One day at a time.