A dull ache keeps my eyes staring
at the ceiling
It emanates from the center
of my brain,
from the traffic jams of that 26-lane highway
It’s always at night,
or maybe that’s when I notice it.
I can’t help but liken it
to the dull ache in my legs as a boy.
like steel rods of taffy,
as I lay wide-awake, softly groaning.
It was always at night, too.
If I lay still enough,
the dull ache might go away.
It usually worked for my legs.
But I know such thinking is wishful at best.
Perhaps it’s not pain,
at least the sort to be fought and avoided.
Rather, pain like
the corrosive blood my heart pumps at a finish line.
life’s whispered promise.
Constructive, not destructive…
Perhaps something is being built.
Perhaps something is growing.