I am Atlas, holding the world.
It is light, a jewel reflecting light
held in my outstretched hand.

I was young and I let it go,
went my way, wandered about
forgetting what once I held.

Older now, with time on my hands,
I wonder whether, once again,
I can hold the world?

I turn, turn again, and again
to see, to my surprise,
the world tilting its way
towards me, fallen nor broken not.

I seem to see it from afar
it’s beginning and it’s end.
It comes to me, turning
as motion of darkness to light.

Comes? No. The world pours itself
into my hands as grace –
water from pitcher to cup,
river to slow fall
into a serene and clear pool.

Once I let the world go,
it’s weight I could not bear.
Now, I take it up again
to feel the expectant thrill
of a child reaching for the moon.

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Portland, Oregon – May 15, 2019