the boat rights itself …

after much motion at sea …

captain, my captain …


as it is

in type of ribboned ink

I spell out my own words.

set 3 layers deep

in permanent ink

I am reminded

of the freedom when holding

no expectations

of particulars

of people

of permanence.

I have

wings open wide against strong wind

while others firmly plant roots

into sandy soil,

only to tip into the grains

face first.

and, yes, rise again

persisting in see-saw motion,

like the punching bag

knocked down and returning

for another beating.

but I was looking

for the way out.

breaking free this pounding cycle.

happy to scrape myself up,

yet, still, feeling as empty

as that inflatable punching bag.

the inevitable punch

is sure to strike



what if

supposing stops?

what if

labeling the next step ceases?

predicting what will be ends?

what if

I unclench the presumption

velcroed to each idea?

no longer bound to the beliefs

that tie us earthly.

what if I let go

of how it should be

and just take it

as it is?