Thick underbrush
chokes your breathing,
stifles your seeing
Crosshatched
closed-up
shut down
But on this day,
tomorrow weighs less
than yesterday.
You slough off
the duff for just
one lungful of grace.
Shed layers of identities
like dead leaves,
pick a fresh bouquet
of potentialities.
Leftovers shaken loose,
composting
into organic holiness.
A new world springs to life.
Not discovered, but remembered
in the emptiness of your living presence.