Horizons So Far
Quiet in the morning, you feel
you should have more to say
in a long and complicated life,
But, as you sit in a busy diner,
you see empty expanses,
shores and seas and lovers
you can pour yourself out to,
empty yourself, no longer caring
if you are filled again or not,
content to listen to the early morning waves
or her voice, soft in the morning. Content,
whether you matter or not or to whom
you matter to. It is all heaven, all of it. Heaven,
or the road to it, and in the end
it is all the same. Journey. Destination,
None of it fixed. All of it swirling,
constellation-like, arriving in new places in the sky.
seasonal, the seasons never in the order
you were taught. It keeps you on your toes.
You sigh. It is something you do often.
Sometimes in wonder. Sometimes in weary surrender.
At the best times with a sense of wonder
At your ordinarinesss. At your need for a love
that touches, allows, grows, never ceases
to become something new, both close and cuddling
and expansive with horizons so far
you will never have the strength to reach them.
A good thing. It takes the pressure off,
allowing you to walk
without needing to arrive.
About this poem.
About life. About Love. About faith. About the journey. About all of it. Poetry is never about one thing.
The photograph was taken on Cape Cod.