the fog lifts
after all these long grey lean years
the fog lifts
leaving a bluer sky
than I’ve ever known
and a rosy warmth
(the joy of being enough)
where all I expected
was the close damp chill
and confusion of mist
where you can’t see
your hand in front of your face
where you listen to faint echoes
to triangulate where you are
now there’s finally enough light
to read the map myself
step out with confidence
that the ground will hold
and I’ll see my way home
to all those loving hearts
that waited patient
while I felt my way
from one dead end to the next
in a maze not of my making
where a compass wouldn’t work
