Surcease

You ask if this    hurt is permanent 
   if recurrence         is the only language
allowed us       in our passage   
    Like you    I think certain    days feel 
finished before they even        begin
    while      others unfold more slowly 
I wanted to say    even the fields
    that look raked and empty     hold on
to something         Roots    stones   a memory
   of water glimpsed as a drying    puddle   
The body remembers how      to keep going 
    Day shift    to night shift while
the mind finds the cruise    control settings
    I want to say          it won't always 
be like this   but we know the difference       
    between now      and tomorrow  the day
after and the day      after    How life    
    is a management of moments   even those
that bear  down as the eye     of a storm