Do Something His mouth is full of light. He clamps it shut. I know he’s filled, without my alabaster breast. I’m left heavy with what he doesn’t need. A humming grows as a star rises on the plain. In the manger, animals sway, sensing rhythm. Beating wings. A terrible wind. I sit on refuse and hay in a filthy dress, rake fingers through my hair. Stare at him. As if he could do something. Different Like the fox, I run with the hunted -Charles Bukowski It’s gaining on you. It’s got your name on it, and it’s the end of everything. You’re afraid. Don’t look away. Lean into it. Become its twin. If it’s easier, open your arms to someone else’s disaster. Take on what they give you. Let it ruin you, whatever it is. The worst damage is done in the bones of the soul. That’s where you’re changed. Maybe it won’t kill you. Of course, it won’t make you stronger, either. Just different.