These words, each one,
holds a piece of me,
pulling apart like fingers in
a warm loaf of bread.
Then other words come
and add their own flavor to it:
some bitter, some sweet
some tart, some tasteless,
but always the words remain.
While I am here to tend them,
they’ll continue to gather me
from every hidden corner
of my mind.
“Are you so eager to leave me?”
“I am eager to leave. Are you so reluctant
to accompany me?”
Between nothing holding me here,
and you with no reason to stay,
we can break the bonds.
But one must
make the sacrifice.
It comes down to trust,
for while love is the fruit,
trust is the seed.
Both reach out, but neither grasps.
Both turn their backs, but neither leaves.
They search each other’s eyes, but neither
smiles sincerely.
The fork in the road is here.
We’ll walk one path together,
or two, alone.
It’s time to go.
A soft spring sunset
filters through park tree leaves.
Travelers fill the roads, heading home
to late dinners and early bedtimes,
prepping to complain about Monday morning.
Time is seized by pets and children,
and the night’s calm settles like a
flannel blanket,
or a hug,
or a shroud.
And just for a while,
the veneer of normalcy
seems authentic.
The detritus
of a
dying spring
rolls down the windshield
of my parked car.
Small meteors
of
plant life
given golden coronas
by the setting sun.
And for a brief moment,
for these harbingers of new life
that have served their purpose,
a moment of silence,
and gratitude to have seen
yet another
season change.
Our moral compass
can’t find its magnetic north
and we’re lost again.
Beyond Panic 