I want badly
to be enough —
but before I know it,
I’ve made the turns
and am,
facing down the wire —
wondering where
or whether to cut.

And there is no word
for this —
just as there’s no word
to explain
the intensity of blue water
under sun when spring says,
at last.
So I’m out again,
courting the wind
and all the voices
that carry you across.

We had only a moment
to notice the sound
of feet on ground
before all the wonder of return
dropped us down again
to dreaming.
And in learning to linger,
we languished too long.

So what I want to know now
is this —
does it ever end?
And do we even want it to?

About Emily

I may or may not have: A. Dirt B. Ink C. Paint D. Wool under my fingernails.

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