Recalibration

Sometimes

I find myself

buried deep

in that icky

sticky stuff

that holds so fast

any effort 

to break free

drains resolve

and so

I stay put

deep

in the mush

until the marrow

of my existence

is restored

with injections

of precious things -

warm words

sometimes stern

but needed words

an outstretched hand

an inner voice

echoing

from my gut

that I

all too often

dismiss

in favour of

prevailing notions

of what is right

music pulsing

in my veins

a well-aimed smile

a melting hug

blue feathers

that just happen

to appear -

these joyful

wondrous things

strengthen me

to haul myself

out of the morass

recalibrate

my compass

and set forth

once more.