It Might Be Enough

It might be an understatement
to say that I can get discouraged,

down-hearted,

even disappointed,
in the fermented ways
we speak,

talking as if we might avenge our pride,

decorating our ego with jewels and gold leaf,
no more real than the truth
disguised in the fleece of a sheep
over the frame of a creature
with fangs and panting, heated breath.

It might be enough
to be a shepherd
on nights like this,

cold and wet soaking my skin,
mindless animals obeying with simple songs;
gently nudged toward new grass,

while all the while
Leonid flashes above me,
flying angels,
closer to earth,

calling to me in God's voice,
"Don't you dare give up."