Excuses

Photo by Blake Barlow on Unsplash

Every night I count
the excuses you’ve left on the table,
stacked cards telling me anything
but ordinary truth.

Shoulders drooping
like weather worn boulders
I sit sifting, looking
for grains of understanding
in eroding faith.

I want to be that one
mountain who got up
and moved. But I stay because
you are never anything less than
always much more than ordinary.
Truth.