The small man
Builds cages for everyone
He
Knows.
While the sage,
Who has to duck his head
When the moon is low,
Keeps dropping keys all night long
For the
Beautiful
Rowdy
Prisoners.
This much I have learned: within the sorrow there is grace. When we come close to the things that break us down, we touch those things that also break us open. This is the point of healing: when we have told the story, we can leave the story behind. What remains is hidden wholeness, alive and unbroken.