A Sun You Cannot See

You start and stop poems all morning,
your feelings vague as fog,
clarity a dim distance promise,

or threat. You cannot be sure.
You have the manuals. You should know.
But the heart is a fickle thing,

refusing to follow directions.
You feel what you feel, never quite matching
what the book tells you.

You have never followed instruction well.
At times that has served you well,
bringing love and adventure in equal measure.

But it has also brought mountains of my own making,
dead ends and brokenness.
Your scars tell the story.

But you do not mourn those scars. You have earned them.
Each of them. And as you scan the misty horizon, you understand
the rule followers bear similar marks, without the exhilaration.

You smile. In the distance you hear wild geese flying south.
They are unafraid of the fog, following some inner compass.
seeking a sun they cannot see.