Messenger

I know what

depression feels like

it is a destination 

where the color has faded

like old curtains 

and everything is dull

and taste and touch

have had all the pleasure

wrung out of them.

The few times 

I’ve lingered in that place

what I’ve noticed most

is when the stronger color

pours back into the world

as sudden as the wine

descending into the 

gravity-fed glass.

These pandemic days

were rubbed dry

with a different darkness

like lying in a tomb

beside the dead

while covered in ichor

that dripped from us

like black molasses

that’s why I call it despair

instead

because we had no roads out

except the ones we were

carving with our

bare hands

through the rock

in the dark.

Some of you had

better roads

some of you winged up 

and out like birds

when the cords of the cage

were cut

and some found their 

prison was a garden

filled with promise.

I travelled down

through the earth’s darkness 

following your torch

letting the unbearable

burn over the surface of me

until I passed through

the final umbra and

into the light again.

Now, every hour 

I am reminding myself,

“Make the most of this chance.

There may not be another.

The gods may yet 

run out of angels.”