Sometimes in meditation
I see a pinhole of light
in the distance. It disappears
and I can’t get it back,
can’t go to the place it’s leading me.
The same beacon from anchored boats
on a dark ocean.
I wake to light rising,
to thoughts of two sisters
in treatment together.
Jolted back to when
their pregnancies aligned–
Elated until
one lost the baby
eight months in.
Now the day is becoming
overcast. I stare at the clean
white rug, the table that once
leaned in a forest. Sunrise,
but I see no sun.
