Swerving, I avoided the round, brown groundhog
sitting on his hind paws,
straddling the center line of the roadway.
Returning home, I saw his mangled, tire-printed body
pressed into the highway's white line.
If only he crossed a moment sooner,
or a moment later
his life may have been spared.
Like the groundhog,
we all exist in life's graduated cylinder.
We are buoyed by living fluid bubbling and ebbing
on gauged calculations of a precarious "ifness".
Cannot wrap my heart too snugly around this given.
It makes me cut off my phones,
drink too much wine
and not want to stir from my bed.
Dear Father, let me talk to you,
so I don't cringe and flatten like my feet.
I'm mindful of the capricious,
wet, unknown darkness constantly swirling around us.
I must muster strength to accept its mired murkiness.
I must so that my daughter,
who fell prematurely from her secured vessel
of mother juice
red, wrinkled and small
dependent on me has a steady love.
She must hold my hand to cross roads safely.
I pray she has the time for many generations.
Let her leap from my shoulders
in life's graduated cylinder.
Swimming up and onward if only it be your will.
Amen
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