Motionality
if I could but reach
a little bit further,
the Baltic winds, the Irish Sea,
not even the Atlantic
could my need for misgivings divide
what a trespass to be whole!
let no thing restore my soul
not swells of madness,
nor gladness proliferating
in form of second chances
stockpiled in veneration of the return
let not my feet
ingratiate the hums beneath
the home-lit flooring
after peaking Tetnuldi
or even Cairn Gorm.
because what is peace
but the absence of being driven?
let sleep be my portion
of that place, and life
in motion be its own recompense
Copyright © Erin Beckett | Year Posted 2024
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