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.