The Fast that Begins the Three Weeks

I write today because I don’t know if I will tomorrow
I know my mind will slow
the words will crawl from my lips
slowly, with effort
dragging each thought behind them
on a back bent and weary

On fast days, I drift from this world
closer to another, my mind stilled
my focus blurred to softness
I float from one thought to another
I land lightly on them, my touch gentle
The breeze blows me away to the next

On fast days, I am reflective
In a time outside of time, removed
With my thinking slowed, I can think deeply
turning a thought over and over
As if I had never touched it a hundred times
Learning its surface and depths as new

Tomorrow we begin to mourn
As my thoughts blur together, the sadnesses also blur
a temple lost thousands of years ago
A slur thrown a week ago
all drift together, gathering stormclouds
Is the storm on the horizon I’ve fled

Or the horizon I’m fleeing to?

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