<html><head><meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"></head><body style="word-wrap: break-word; -webkit-nbsp-mode: space; line-break: after-white-space;" class=""><div dir="auto" style="word-wrap: break-word; -webkit-nbsp-mode: space; line-break: after-white-space;" class=""><div style="font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; color: rgb(51, 51, 51);" class="">Micro-Losses </div><div class="default-style" style="font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; color: rgb(51, 51, 51);"><div class="default-style"><div class=""> </div><div class="">As I struggle to find</div><div class="">the old and familiar grace</div><div class="">of strength to arise erect</div><div class="">from the kneeling prayer position</div><div class="">on the hard bitten-ground</div><div class=""> </div><div class="">– there comes singing from the Yew trees</div><div class=""> </div><div class=""> As I strain to hear my grand-daughters</div><div class="">infectious giggles, I smile pretending</div><div class="">I heard her two year old words</div><div class=""> </div><div class="">– there is a quietude on the wind</div><div class=""> </div><div class="">As my overwhelm within magnifies again</div><div class="">the smallest of tasks</div><div class="">I stop and ponder the efficacy</div><div class="">of proceeding down a path</div><div class="">as though the puppy a head</div><div class="">is now a feral hound frothing</div><div class="">like the ghost of a Minotaur</div><div class=""> </div><div class="">– there is a chorus of Threshold singers on the coastal horizon </div><div class=""> </div><div class="">So what am I to do with these micro-losses </div><div class="">visiting me with a stench of decay of their own?</div><div class=""> </div><div class="">I reach for my forgotten guitar -</div><div class=""> </div><div class="">I walk slowly through the Eucalyptus grove looking upwards </div><div class="">so my tears are held within</div><div class="">until I’m ready for them to fall away</div><div class=""> </div><div class="">I write an old friend with pen and paper</div><div class=""> </div><div class="">I call my adult son and apologize for my </div><div class="">years of seeing him as my wounded father </div><div class=""> </div><div class="">I take myself out to fish for salmon</div><div class="">a prostrated cry to the gods </div><div class="">a surrender </div><div class=""> </div><div class=""> </div><div class=""><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>- P Gregory Guss</div></div></div></div></body></html>