I Hear You Knocking

The alarm rings before dawn, all confusion and slow steps. Arrive at a hospital before the day has begun, tuck the nerves away, the desert heat doesn't reach the inside of carefully laid plans and in just a few hours this will all be over. We drive through the canyon in the late afternoon, and watch the boats in a half-dried reservoir pretend the holiday was just a sunny addition to their summer, not a comment on the injustices of a land. 

The life is short, though the days stretch on. The little sparks appear when you do not ask for them, the daggers, too. It is all we can do is hold on best we can, gather the joys and remember them through the rain. Summer is short, too short, though the days stretch on. But it is here. And so are you. 

Perhaps,
for now,
that will do.