plowing ahead she rises to the occasional
pique of future flowing moments unfurling from
the pages of the book stuck together like morning
eyelashes fluttering, no cause necessary, just practicing
push pull not the same as yes or no...paralyzed in some
moments along the river bank of fog, lazily drifting
doing some fishin’ I think...not sure for what
no bait...none taken, none given...albatross wings span
the globe, circumnavigating for something like years
age old pieces of me surfacing...can I really do this again?
pits in my stomach of excitement and whatever else
I can’t call it out because I don’t know what it is right now
trepidation about movement and yet, movement is having
her way with me sort of. The mess no longer supports so
something must give now...I cannot keep up the illusion that
I no long care...I do care...I want more than I have given myself
for a very long time...unspooling threads...cannot see as I am
apparently not a weaver of time...praise for the old folks who
walked the wisdom paths in our illustrious world...
Good night for now...eyes drifting into the downward dog...
Asta la vista baby...
Copyright © Cynthia Cross | Year Posted 2019
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