There is a pull that has no name,
anchoring us to mornings we do not ask for,
to choices we did not choose,
to the quiet ache of continuing.
The body rises,
but something deeper stays behind-
rooted in thought,
in memory,
in the heaviness of being.
......
There is a pull that has no name,
anchoring us to mornings we do not ask for,
to choices we did not choose,
to the quiet ache of continuing.
The body rises,
but something deeper stays behind-
rooted in thought,
in memory,
in the heaviness of being.
......