Sunlight
Lumens every
lump and wrinkle of
My practice
Lucidates my
fears
The ruthless
dawn
Encourages
anxieties to
Chat me up at
breakfast
Intimating that
If I were really
Always getting
better, I'd be
Really good
By now
Even incremental
progress would
Add up (they
hint) and
Reach, at last,
a
Tidy sum
From there, it's
not too far to wonder
How much of my
progress is
Illusion, clever
sleight of
Coaching hand?
How much adept
Self-deception
Redefining goals
and
Grading on a
shifting curve?
I'm saved, at
last, by dusk:
With moonrise
inhibitions fall
And optimism
swells
The kindly dark
obscures my flaws
The gloom of pessimism makes it
hard to keep my goals in sight
That's why I pursue my praxis in the night
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