the way

life … lived parenthetically - impulses placed like black boots in soft sand, stumbling … betting a fool’s hope that it leads … SOMEwhere … or garners a courtly chuckle (if perhaps by accident) my pas de bourée to your sublime elegance and perfect line … you and yours, entire, have ever been in frame - shoulders down, elbows up work, play, love, life, achievement - always the apex, the penultimate the bright brick path laid out before you (or placed as you went) naught a detour or leg up each meter earned with a precious blood … while I caught the brambles - hacking away at life with a machete of words and wishes … all the while believing that character required as much - that struggle and chaos tempered the steel of our sinews and spirit when in reality they only served themselves and fed a monster that devoured all I found worthwhile - all I defined as good … you … were born to golden toe shoes every point INTENDED at the barre, or at the curtain upon waxed wood, or midst the spindrift for the masses, or for the gulls and I orchestra … or sounds of the sea you dance on - like coins of sunlight dance atop the breaking swells … our destinations are the same no matter our start or our direction we leave alone and without thus … it is the journey that defines us whether the shining stair or the weedy wood … whether the demanding ballet or the stumbling jester … whether let with precision and poise or a hesitant stagger … every foot in front of the other and every wayward path its own precious … adventure.