That something
you feel called to,
the almost-voice you hear…
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.
We wake into a day
already alive and waiting,
wake into a life already pregnant
with the thought of us…
Our invisible
everything
radiates,
Sailing ahead down the tar-sealed road,
a shadow, wide-winged and languid.
Seagull and sun behind me
pull like a kite on invisible string.
It’s not too late
to go to wild places,
alone,
and unafraid…
Your vast soul,
that seabed on which
the ocean of you rests,
holds every part of you
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…