Mycillium

Too late for poetry
and too late for song
When we're too tired to sing
-and God knows it's late-
Spirit dries to tinder
Crackling, popping in the night's clear dark-

There's little to be thankful for, then,
But thankfulness

Little to be afraid of
But Thankfulness
-and how she pulled me from my fear-
A fear I'm afraid I cannot do without.

Fear rooted in air
Rotted in Earth
Mycillium and all the molds-

Crying in the thankful dark.