In the mist the whisper
the list of the missing
things I ditched
and left? Or things
I feared and ran
from before I landed
in quicksand in locked
eyes with danger or wit
too great, never mind
fate. I hate
the longing that haunts
and shows up to taunt
my every blinking
breath, my wanton
heart
I sew words in hopes
of a better suture
My life's true suitor
green in curly scapes
in summer
shapes make their ways
through my daze
Dancing plays
and tumbleweed
where's the feed
for souls
like me
Lost in wondering
singing silent
where's the insatiable quest
the drive in my chest
the blindness to test
Lest I wake in another life
with tails untied and tasks
untried
Denied of dreams
of rose petaled streams
of bamboo leaps
and leaf colored leotards
Scribbled in air
scripted in sinew
imprinted on eyes
on karma's long thighs
How the waiting narrates
story lines
arabesque lies
of no pain but inside
as the pages they flip
on waiting's hip
I trip up and hiccup and
skip
ballerina
run
flat face first into muscled tree arms and soar
beyond writing OR
So write AND
dance-pick flowers-make life all yours.
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