i need words more than they need me
they force my driftless mind into sudden surety
the one direction i can find
i must find
they are a solitary venture
which for me is a necessary escape
from a life filled with responses
a life where i am an evolving creature
ever fastened by the styles and patterns of others
taking on what is necessary to realize my self
i also leave behind my essences
momentarily
a dangerous adventure
(since they are inescapable).
in almost thirty years
i have been a thousand versions of my self
epically losing and finding
my way
i am a willing inhabitant
on this turning earth that somehow
turns hours into lifetimes
i have never resisted the passing of time
and she has begun to show her kindnesses
returning objects that offer solace
in their familiar company
linking me with selves i was once
and always want to be.
i need colors and creations that are only mine
in ways i cannot explain
like the face that stares back at me
with knowing eyes
at once foreign and intimate
she is my destiny and my muse
i realize she is always with me
waiting to see what will be preserved
when i step into my world
start shedding language
shredding intentions and anticipations.
i can feel her more closely now
above the din of instinct's clatter;
i can speak her truths.
is it age making me honest?
or am i relearning something i knew better
once before?
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