I've got too many things to do
On my list, in my head.
Real things, imagined things.
So I've run away to the beach, to the woods, under the covers,
To clear my head of silly lists and chores,
Of memories, disappointments, hauntings.
That circling spy me out, in a dream.
Wheel upon wheel of interpretations and reinterpretations.
Endless quests to understand
What Happened and Why.
Does it matter, still?
Someday.
Out here beyond the shore, the trees, the bottom of my bed
Is only love.
All within my body, so soft, so forgiving.
Nothing to do but breathe.
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| Hydrangeas and White Sky |
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