but what if none of it matters?
that’s the thing, it has to.
each day we breathe, we breathe —
a gift of grace to make us free                              
 
if it doesn’t matter,
the wind through the trees doesn’t whisper the story
the branches don’t intertwine
the birds don’t sing
when you stand at the tip of the earth and reach for the sky’s hand,
you won’t feel a moment of awe, not even a sliver of enamored love
for the air and the sun and your eyes and this place under this blanket of sky
and for the person standing next to you with whom you would share all of your days,
counting them down, moon by moon and sun by sun,
sweet morning by sweet morning and even the dim corners of the evening
 
and so you say, does it matter?
when you’re a grain of sand drowning in the bank
when the river comes high and you to your knees
when each inch of air that fills your lungs only brings you pain
 
when it happens, yes it will.
when your heart is weak
when you close your eyes and speak
does it matter?