It seems counterintuitive

To breathe into the pain
to draw new molecules
deep into lungs
struggling not to collapse
terrified of
enfolding the sharp arrows
into your being.

Easier by far to wish it
away
mask it with feathered
armor
mardis gras masks
of whiskey and weed.

Who knew that listening
could be so difficult
opening cellular space
sensing into whispered secrets
of longing and despair

worse at the bookends of the day
when light has long since faded
or threatens to return