A Glance of Sea

He has such great armor
that token of guilt inside
reaching for the empty bottle
She keeps filling his vessel
with ideas for boys
who believe in oar's treasure
In the quarter-light of purpose
he catches a beam
and recognizes the kind of motion
that sails by disarmed
Her hair
His eyes
The way wind looks at fallers
When he disembarks
the stiffness from his mistakes
propels her to turn
into a different water
the kind of drowning
that breathes beyond reach
that distant ache of land
They will not touch again

That Pasture

I haven't exactly been writing lately, which is a good thing. With Spring comes the going of the outside. But I have also had a series of events coincide that has put me in a good humor. One of the great things that happened to me yesterday was my brakes went out in my car, so I got to drive through our little town on high alert in low gear with my hand on the ebrake. I know this sounds like a bad thing, but it is an adventure. My mind in that car was pristine and focused. I could only be a pilot.

But the real upshot is that I have to ride my bike. I love my bike. I love being the motor, but every Spring I have to be tricked or coerced into getting started. I should be riding it everyday, but that force that keeps us attached to the way things are had to be broken, and my car obliged.

I'm moving out of my safety web as well. I had been looking for the right place and getting a bit worn out with it, when I saw an ad and felt direction tell me to call this number. Perfect. Lovely. Ginormous. I'm going from one room to too many and I love it. I was initially nervous about how the news of my departure would be taken, but everything went swimmingly. Just moving across town is all. It's so the right thing to do. Funny, too, that my son is going to Colorado to see his mom for the summer, so the largeness of my new abode will echo all summer.

And there is time. That balm of all aches. Some things don't easily get over themselves. Some things need the space of time to sort themselves out. We are resilient. We adapt. Even to the things we wish would have gone differently. Perhaps enough time has passed that I simply find myself here, happy enough with what I have. Now it comes time that I turn my mind back out to the pasture of us all. How can I serve? I have more than enough and my table (it's still invisible) wants to be useful.