at which height?
the author of my life
a puppeteer?
a silver lining, a whispered graze
across the temple
suggesting direction.
or do I know better
than I know?
do I gently shift myself
and give grace
when that shift gets shadowed
falling unnoticed in the
magnetism of human imperfections --
the fears the doubts the egos
the heavy weights of
misinformed decisions?
or do the Puppeteer and I
exist in tandem
loving my every move as only they can?
will I ever learn to love my actions
as
tenderly
as they do? Do I carry
with me
the capacity
of this grace
as I am in form in body?
did I gift myself this
awakening
in this time?