Wobblyjawed and Uneven
The horizon is a little wobblyjawed and uneven,
almost flat, but just off-kilter enough,
with enough small hills and wild growth
that you cannot see the where the path takes you.
It swerves a little, the path, just out of sight.
There has been no pattern, no clear direction so far.
It has traveled this way and that, obviously in no hurry
to arrive where ever it might be going.
There are flowers in the fields. Thorns too.
The thistles will tear at your legs if you cut through.
You will bleed. You know this,
having cut through the fields, a false shortcut, before.
No, you will follow the path before you,
uncertain as it is. All you can be sure of
it that others have made this same journey
About this poem
About paths I have followed, both real and in life. The picture was taken on Cape Cod.