The days

Day one I'm feeling
Downright spiritual, I suppose.
It's great; I see you everywhere,
I feel you, like moisture in the air.
I'm uplifted when I look at my hands
Imagine the hands that created them.
And when I smell you
It's like fresh cut grass.

Day fourteen's about the same.
The skies are overcast so
You're a little less tangible.
But when I read Isaiah 40
I still see my redemption.

Day thirty-two and smoke is rising,
Blurring my vision,
Or maybe it's my fatigue --
I'm getting a little bored.
Whatever the case is,
It's a shadow now I see
A silhouette of sorts,
A ways away and
To the far left of my vision.

Day forty-nine is lethargy
And the rest of the picture ain't pretty --
Fog dense like molasses --
But who cares?
It's calming in its
Own sinister sort of way.