You don’t need to watch the news. Walk the
dog. Lay in the grass. Watch a cloud settle
into evening’s funereal pews. That terror which
lies in wait will be there when you return, will
greet you like an old dog walking stiffly over.

You don’t need to be outraged. Let the graffiti
be. Let the weeds grow a while. Let the dishes
pile up. Leave a little trash for the hungry ants
to feast on. Earth is a messy, untidy place;
you don’t need to be the one to make its bed.

And even when the filth becomes too much, when
the old dog rises up to claw you, when the yard
is so overgrown you cannot find your way, still, don’t
watch the news. You will carry this heavy world
until you deliver its salvation, or it crushes you.