Hope sounds so nice,
so completely harmless,
such a sunny way
to deal with disappointment
and distract from pain.
What nobody tells you, though,
is how hope can really fuck
things up, how closely hope
is related to despair, how ‘trust’
is a much better alternative
because there is no letting go
with hope, only clinging
to a narrow ledge that reality
can and will crumble,
leaving you bruised
and empty handed.
But with trust,
you empty your hands
at the beginning, freeing them
to reach out and touch
any and all possibilities
reality sends your way.

Each morning wrap your laughter and enthusiasm,
your patience, and the kindest words you know
into packages you can dispense all day long.
Open your heart as wide as it will stretch,
then give without holding anything back,
not trying to save some for later
or for someone more important.
Pour all of yourself into every moment,
each encounter, trusting that somehow
due to some cosmic accounting practice
you will still have more than enough
at the end of the day.

Despite walking past it every day,
tonight is the first time I notice
the seven-foot tall sunflower
with its legions of flowers swirling
like satellites in every direction,
in my neighbor’s garden.

Suddenly I remember
tender seedlings I planted
somewhere deep inside of me
at the beginning of the summer,
and I am amazed to discover
a sturdy stalk growing
from my center, its leaves and stems
bursting out from under my clothes,
and all those soul-cracking moments
that dropped me to my knees
as I uncovered more truth
must have been the flowers
bursting into bloom.

about the plant
sitting in my windowsill,
packed into its little clay pot,
getting water from the tap
whenever I happen to notice
its leaves starting to droop,
I wonder if it experiences
yearning on days like today
as the rain in its full
all-day drenching delight
soaks everything outside.