Just before we walk

One more hour,

and it will all be over.

Years of struggle, 

capped off in a moment.

 

We will throw our hats,

we will say “congrats,”

and we will go on

to whatever is next.

 

And looking back, 

a lot of choices were made.

Some easy, some hard,

all good.

 

Never was one more important

than another.

Every one has meant as much

as the next.

On the Finger Lakes (Minnesota, 2012)

for Laurel

Friends escaped to a shore of time
between states of gridded fields

Shoulders pressed with twig patterns
from beneath sleeping bags

Words loosened by brewed coffee
and stories too long waylaid

Oars held by moss cords spreading
from cattails we met on purpose

Palms held over kayak’s edge waiting
for the water’s promised nuance

Thoughts hanging like fishing hooks
watching in hope under the surface

So low

Flight is overrated.

Travel, too.

At least when done in a rush,

and the flowers go unnoticed.

 

I have spent oh so many hours

trapped in a metal cage,

whizzing by the neon lights

and listening to nothing.

 

How many memories have I missed?

How many smiles passed by?

Is it worth the cost of all my time,

that oh so precious liberty?

 

I wish I used it better, and did less.

Spent it more on others, than my self.

Used it as it should be used,

not accounted and distributed,

here and there.

 

On the ground I lay, waiting for nothing.

Because here my heart is happy,

so close to its home.