Spent

Sometimes

the hero wakes up

exhausted

and sorrowful.

On those days

there is no quest,

only acceptance.

The plot doesn’t move

forward

but goes deeper.

The only stand

for her to take

is to sit

in the layers

of sediment and silt

offering safe passage

to the weary travelers

in her heart—

the regrets and doubts

and slow-moving fears,

to extend a hand

lightly

as they appear.

On those days

the only currency

worth anything

is gentleness

and it must be

lavishly

spent.