after Alcoholic Anonymous

I will notice the tiny things—the cut corner of a strawberry leaf, a drop of milk on a floral saucer, a bead resting next to the point of a needle.

I will let the threads of my life run loose: I’ll play cat’s cradle in the sand.

I will be open to transmutation at the edge of sight: blossom into bud, breath into kiss, bird into sky.

I will walk the outline of my person while singing Verdi’s sempre libera.

I will take my succour from shadows: I will know I exist because of the sun.

I will grip the hand of darkness until she takes me to love beyond grief.

I will trust the White Crane and the light-hearted priest: I will listen for wings flashing.

I will zip my lips and admire my racing heart.

A peach is blooming in my solar plexus, I will let it ripen.

I will surrender to circumstances of this post-reason, hyper-fabulist world that ironically includes nasty viruses that cause havoc to my sense of reality.

I will be as small as a pebble, and as simple.