Eventually, your mind runs itself tired. You let it circle the last few paces down to the ground, drifting like a feather before settling at last and letting you sleep. Your cup is 90% despair these days, all heavy mercury at the bottom and sticky tar along the rim, but you are determined to make it through this year with at least one thing to bring you joy in the years to come. You are determined to look back on this year and see at least one precious gift it offered; that is the great benevolence you choose to bestow upon a time that otherwise broke every bone in your body, that otherwise left you in tatters. I will not let you hurt me so much that you cannot recover. What strange fallout from abuse. I will not let me see it this way.
Summer roars into its stretch of Sundays, I pack up my upstate bag and swing one last round past the pool. Pretend to forget my sunscreen. Tomorrow a hurricane will visit Manhattan but I am not angry. I have work to do.
Come wash us clean. Blow the last of this gravel from my eyes. I am determined to see the gift, when it arrives.
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