I’ve come to love

the phrase

Both things can be true;

The innermost storms

of me

of all things

can nestle quite peacefully

within each other

rather than boast about

which can wreak the most

havoc.

And the gray becomes a familiar oasis,

previously a scramble to tug this way

or that

to appease an

imaginary

obsession.

The evening can rest in the haze

and create a breathless

panorama

and I can smile in wonder

at the edges of my

broken pieces

on the ground.