Living From the Open Wound
I’ve been living from the open wound
old hurts bleeding into my present
pummeled, powerless
grasping, scared
though solace is all around—
in the purity of the air
the constancy of breath
the proud tree spanning the breadth
of all four windows.
Old stories of I can’t
not enough, too small
bleed out into the Truth
of Being’s inherent beauty
and limitlessness.