Friday, May 4, 2018


Having reached this clear over-
head but
mysterious spot, you stop, stand 
still and watch

strange boomerang birds—cutting
ribbons of cloud from the low-
hanging sky;

you exhale 
and you feel 
the white wind 

begin to carry 
what might be
your last breath away—how far? 

This is a decent question, but it isn't 
the best one. 

Is this what you really
want? chides 
the breeze, To be 
free?—in that case, don't you see 

how you'll always 
be irrevocably 
bound to something?

You don't want to 
hear this; you insist you're not 
stuck—and neither
are you lost,

you've just gone
somewhere new 

and decided
not to move. 

There's a huge difference 
between the two;

no response
of course—but just look 

you're arguing with.