the hours that matter

these
are the hours
that matter.

time spent
pushing
against
the stone
upon your
weakening
shoulders.

the hours of futility
and sacrifice
that teach you
how to remain

upright against
the savage
heavens.

and these hours
are all any of us
ever have.

rejoice
under the beautiful
weight.

alone

one bird at the top
of a tall thin
pine tree.

such delicate
balance.

the wind blows
and
the tree
rocks,
gently
then with some force.

the bird
doesn’t fly;

it stands

and
sings.

  — Christopher Cunningham.