Trust
I kneel in the attic,
next to a box of little girl dresses,
feeling our impending goodbye.
No brain, I am only heart
and skin and breathing,
staring at nothing,
not even an imagined
Kristiansand,
till I see
in the flashlight beam,
a world of dust, swirling chaos,
specks like planets
flung from orbit,
massing, revolving back,
splitting into twos and threes
and lonely ones--
and I know
I orchestrated
this music of spheres--
as I watch,
everything changes:
dust specks settle
into one flow--
from solos to chorus,
and this too, I know
I conduct.
Published in Young Ravens Literary Review, 2019
