If I think too hard about it,
I freeze up inside
like a river in winter.
I cannot begin to comprehend the suffering occurring all over this sphere I spin on.
Yet my mind turns there, is brought to that place by the insistent news which bombards me with tales of woe.
There is a balance between knowing and not obsessing, between despair and not losing hope, between action and this freezing of my capillaries.
“There has to be an invisible sun which gives its heat to everyone,” sang the Police.
God, I hope so.
Grant that I may be a warm soul.