What Else

Breathe.

What else is there 
on a day where I wear grief
so close to my skin
and sweat at the real heat
clinging to life
like the one I am living?

The beads of prayer
that act honorably to hold my spirit,
and all the days I have,
with small and loving knots
are mysterious clues
to the universe.
The tiny globes of stone
are wrapped around my wrist
and in the sound of air that enters
and leaves me
one
after
another.

Remind me
of the gift,
the one of a child,
like the petals
on a thousand flowers
in a field where friends
and souls know where
to meet
and laugh
like sadness
was forgotten
so long ago.