a thank you note to readers

when stunted traffic jams dredge up
a plume of fetid air,
when smallish hills turn mountain-esque
and I lose sight of where,
when messy work is sprawling
and I'm pulling out my hair -
"there, there," you always say to me, "there, there."

if summer's out of loveliness
and winter's left me bare
if darkness leaves its shadow print
and light seems far too rare
if trying to run instead leaves me
just tripping on each stair -
"there, there," you always say to me, "there, there."

and in the midnight hour
when I'm locked inside my room,
attempting something of a birth
from this elusive womb
you steal in with a word or two
and wrestle me from doom,
then stay along until this bud
has turned itself to bloom.