Am I trying to
inhabit a life
that no longer fits
Why do I creak?
Why do I fail to find the once familiar groove,
the seam in which all things
cohere?
I am displaced,
scattered and my senses
fail me.
Where am I trying to come home to?
I creak and hear my own
groans escaping.
wild sounds that alarm
my younger self.
Am I becoming that?
Am I she who will
fail to meet imagination
with dignity?
I creak and now it is
a home-coming of sorts,
To my bones,
To parts of me long abandoned.
Have mercy.
I have been
away.
What can I say?
Except that, maybe
you have too, haven’t we
all, lost ourselves,
all our bearings,
signs we once thought we knew
scribbled over, what was it that it said there,
once upon a time?
What is this new strangeness
to which we are becoming
accustomed?
Can I continue to haul
my hopes along this wild path?
Will you? Will you haul along beside me?
Or will you drop your dreams
imperceptibly, numbed by the
exhaustions, numerous and wailing,
hungry and afraid, eating you
alive?
Perhaps if we
sat down a moment, here?
yes here. Bare scrub it looks, of course
it always does.
Rest, imperceptibly a stillness
creeps over
the pains, furies at injustice, which,
of course, must take hold, but must
not,
must not turn sour.
Stillness, friend, and rest
mere moments as a dew descends, hush.
Soak your wounds in wonder.
There is just enough
to keep going
til morning,
as still we are alive
I am away, yes,
but here
extraplorer 