Completer

The news, if not the world,
Keeps finding ways to grow
Ever darker. Does it?

Or is it just what’s next
Never looks promising,
Being inherently

False and full of horrors
Brains cull from memories?
And all the little things

You add up through the hours
Of ordinary days
Lean toward disaster,

If you incline that way,
As most of you do, and
Most of the headlines do.

Sometimes you imagine
A glorious, gentle,
And calm realm at the core—

Not like a star blazing,
Not relentless shining,
But simply, all is well.

What is coming isn’t.
The great scarves of stars
Are their own universe,

Far more than they’re your own,
And you have been growing
Ever gentler with knowing

That the next wave leaves you,
Well and good, ghost in sand,
Or takes you, better, true.