Depression
Out of the dark, dark cavern
off the worn corner of my bed.
Most minutes are free from
the words, dead, dead, dead.
Amazed to take a shower
then walk the dog,
I want to play, kiss a prince, love a frog.
Even get dressed up and comb my hair.
Go out looking normal,
see if I’m “all there.”
When did I start singing?
When did joy leap—
into the arms of wonder
above the dark
above the deep?
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