The Shift

It’s a quiet thing

the shift from what’s faded into dark

to a softly painted lighted arc

under which your footsteps fall

before the path is even clear

there are flowers there

tethered in a charming vine

under the slowness of the rising sun

it’s the changing of your shadow

and the cyclic pattern of a moonlit sky

it’s the shift from endless fatigue

to lighter fuller daresay bouncy steps

it’s the slow waking

and a slower rise

it’s depression fading

and life come running