Is it okay to fall? To doubt and retreat from the battle.
To look in the mirror and not like what you see, loving the imperfectness of it anyway.
The soft parts once hard, the quiet where there was noise.
How do you know when you’re there? Are the mountains craggy topped and barren? The rivers ever flowing with boulders strown about?
A light appears in the distance, maybe a star or a car moving down the highway – I cannot tell.
Clouds dip toward the mesa and I wait for the wind, for the heat and cold to hold me close unwavering.
A torch to light my way, high and forward into the shadows evermore.
It is no longer in me to wish for the near and safe. Like the wasp sting, the near has never been safe anyway
and there is nothing quite like exploring in the dark.