I now write cryptic for want, thirst
Or direction in a wasteland of thought
Busy-ness has stalled me
Or I stall myself

Or maybe life creeps up like a lover to sleeping other
Kisses closed eyes and eases sleep;
Pleases dreams and silences weeping
Benevolent hand, creeping, creeping

Or maybe my islands lie in wider oceans
Now smaller notions we pass at night
Salutations to mind and soul
At minimum, just by chance

Chance and circumstance they say,
Winds blow weak or strong by day
And we float, accordingly, further away
From those on which we once stepped foot

For now our feet have worn that land
And know its stony touch
Know its twists and know its turns
And in walking, don’t think much
Have thought much
Felt much
Drawn much from this terrain

New lands lie ahead.
Float on.


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