through the treetops. Rustling leaves, ravens cry,
blackbird-filled air. Travel incorporates
baggage; yours is much too burdened to fly.
Your navigation's broken and the weight
of dreams and dread confuse, drag down the skies.
Drumbeats of reasons not to, confiscate
your optimistic Pollyanna joy.
You can't release the cloak of doom, make light
your load, without the will of dark-filled night
to shine the stars, to part the thunderclouds,
to dance the moon dance, live the light allowed
for you, to find your candle, make it yours;
your blaze will less your weight and let you soar.
© Christine Salkin Davis, 2019