3/31/93

Empty

A chill crosses my arms
I can feel every hair burning
The weight eases from my shoulders
And I see the space again

Solitude brings the slow smile of strength
I find comfort in the changing face of a growing friend
The accidental brush of a floral print
The breath of a stranger
The call of one I’ll see sometime
Sometime when we stop in the same place
At the same time
Without stable anchorage we pass and miss
Ships grudgingly lack what we have…

Entering the unknown lonely, not alone
I draw a breath and say a prayer
Willingness not in great supply
I will return perhaps the same
Or with a open hand.