Stray, to where? With whom?
In the end we must choose ourselves
over and over.
A river will bite
at the bank that bars its way.
Backed up against the wall of itself…
Knowing that the anchor
was thrown too far from the boat
all that time ago
reunion can’t come soon enough.
You’ll come for yourself eventually,
walking backwards from the future
or flying up behind like a mighty wind.
Let go the hand of the known,
and of not-knowing.
There is no sense of time lost
or of a life wasted
when you finally know who you are.
No matter the treasure bestowed on you
in the night, when you wake,
keep something for yourself.
It’s not too late
to go to wild places,
alone,
and unafraid…
Unhitch yourself from the wagon
that goes only one way
knows only one route
travels the same rutted path
it always has,
Where are your wilds?
What have you tamed
and let others tame in you?
I’m tired of the promise of more,
and how it always makes me
feel less.
How much can one possibly need?
Like mountains
driven up,
eroded,
every day we rise
and fall back down…
It’s easy to love life
under blue sky,
arms thrown wide to the weather;
sun shining, highlighting
life’s soft curves….
It’s not that we’re abandoned,
but that we demand delight
at every turn.
We can only stay sated so long…
I want to know
what wants to come through you,
what lies waiting?
In this space
between earth and sky,
the here and almost-not,
what moves you?
What will you come apart for?
The shutter opens by degrees,
the thin film peels away
one quarter inch at a time
as it has been doing,
as you have been doing
even as you swear you cannot…
A life stripped of riches,
a self swept aside for sameness,
barely holds together…