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There are days when an ache settles into your bones
unlike a sore muscle
from lifting too much,

unlike a cold that must run its course.

it’s a throb that starts at the center
and works its way out:

through the fingertips
through the eyes
through the tongue

but is never really out,

not completely.

A warm bath.
A warm drink.
A warm sheet.

remedy. remedy.

but here we sit, sometimes,
in embrace with fatigue
and hopefully, happily spent,
(though not always so)

and we think of the dances we’d dance
if we weren’t submerged under all this weight –
striding through water –

every movement delayed
and swollen,
but somewhere in the imagination,

weightless and free.

 

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