i'm thankful that something is about to crack
the frosted glass ahead of me is showing signs of exhaustion
and for the first time i know it's there.
i'm thankful that this door is habit, and the door is old
and like ancient furniture it too gets camouflaged by custom and convenience,
and only its absence shows
i'm thankful that the tempered glass is beginning to break
and i don't know what lies ahead
for all i can see is light
and maybe an open field into something foreign
green and golden like dusty meadows in summer
withered away, dry beneath the sun
i'm thankful for the fine lines of erosion
sharp and acute against the flatness of the surface
where i cut my finger for the first time
and thus became awake from the dullness
of being enclosed
against the throbbing of my bleeding thumb
i'm thankful for losing numbness
but gaining predatory stillness and calm
as i am thankful for waiting
thankful for the glass to break
i'm thankful that i sense opportunity
and smell hardship and pleasure - if only small
and i look forward to the adventure, even if unable to eat or sleep
for all my hunger is devout to the unknown
and sleeping left me tired
there is only restlessness in my soul
i'm thankful for gaining real senses
a new nose, new set of eyes, seeing skin,
sharpened teeth, uncontrollable desire, lusting for more
longing for warmth and roughness and pausing time
because there is no limit in what i can imagine
i'm thankful that it has not broken yet
but the shattering already echoes vivid and crystalline in my mind
a million glass shards raining the wooden floors
tearing holes in the tapestry
scratching the veneer of routine
each tingling note singing bright, like children laughing gay
a choir screaming, there goes the cage
i'm thankful that something is about to crack and explode
i rise strong, my steps have power and feed on hope
i long for clarity and the open road