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Do you ever think about licking the blade?

About walking the edge, slipping on loose rock - arms out for balance. Resisting the urge to jump. Fighting the calluses of life. I have regrets, people and moments I wish I’d showed up better for. As myself. My true self. Who could I be if I wrote without consciousness? Without worry. Unabashed. You’ve gone feral, he said. I can think of no greater compliment, it rides with me like moonlight on a favorite book. Like the stars without borders. This season of alternating sunshine and clouds, eventually vanishing. Leaving only memories. The descansos of my life taking shape one by one. Reaching from the soul to forego my past. Under a full moon the windows glow. We ride through the draws and into the grasslands. Maybe the soul of my horse mirrors mine more than I realize. Is it harder to let go of hope than it is the person? All I can tell you is I will not find myself in your answer.


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