On the day the moon went forward of the sun

she woke again,
a Monday, vowed again
to her best with what she’s got
~ a little bit ~
knowing that most things
she does not know.

A prayer again:
"Make me a vessel, empty
and clear. May truth flow through
and kindness too." It is
a tender thing to try not
for perfect, but for simple.

Progress is not what it seems.