A Deep Cup- it's a poem...

A Deep Cup

Every breath is an act of defiance,
and each thought an undertaking of reclamation
because your words weave through,
like Kevlar and super-strength cordura strands
bolstering moth-eaten wool and well worn, faded
canvas duck to itself anew,
keeping life and body from a brink too often
imagined in this twilight between day and night

When sawdust comes off as dust, it’s not good
and each wee blade needs be sharpened
so that formerly diaphanous and gravity-defiant comes off as
shavings, chips, and leaves lungs and eyes
to their normal business
and logs cut like butter, or at least like thick crusted bread-
then work goes well, back don’t twist and strain,
and I think, “Is that all it takes?”

So your voice remains through it all,
with offered thanks, praise, science, and laughter,
Like divine hope or stew or some blended dessert wine
from a deep cup of your own make
and under a sky of violet blue, yellows, and cherry blossom pinks
I know well and good from these twilight skies
as portent and joy or, sometimes,
the loss of will in the face of inevitable darkness
and the eternal views away from our sun-

but really, you always make it good again, so we’ll sleep well tonight.

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