Quicksand

An ache to travel. To feel and to see. To fly across the oceans and climb the life-filled mountains.

Belief in freedom and a sudden grounding. Fast and slow. Contradictory paths and winding roads.

Rocks, stones, leaves. Bread, wine, ripe tomatoes.

A floating in the wind and a baby’s depthful cry. One sees it all and another sees none at all. One way. And another.

Be where you are.

A brotherhood.

Boxes loaded. Ripped and cornered. Be of great help and stand with a goodness. Sprinkle of wit. Of crossing languages.

Pray. Coffee. Stone. Domed tent. Clasp of a hand. Switch of a phone.

Moving through the night and an early day. Repeat for tea.

A building of a bond. Smoke carried through a breeze. Bouts of difference. Of levels and truths. Unfavorable. Disintegrating. Leading. A reason that needed not be followed.

Slow moving trucks gliding on the sand. Covered faces. Blue jeans.

Back to a day. A past connected.

A howling call for what?

A city of hope.

Dragging through mud. I see where you’re going but you don’t want to be found. There’s less me and an ascending you.

New and old. Dragging sea.

Sandstorm. Red moon. Starving free-roaming dogs. Packs of three. Oil refined. Fire from the top.

Keep going. Keep seeing.

Through the dust and freeze is a day of triumph. Follow it. Feel it.

A moment of calm. A release.

Be thou adorned of frightful core.

Seeming descent. Rising sun.

The little white fox scurries away.