My Left and My Right

Leaving here through miles of sky, seeking what the sun brings. Home travels along – its words, its love, its vascular pores exchanging old breath with new air. The sea is calling, as they say. Or as I say, the sea and me. Cuban cigars Caribbean sand calypso constellations. How the sea wakes the day and sways the soul to sleep. How I am poured out into a tide pool, mixed forever with the salted heart of Aquarius. How I swim away.

It's our anniversary soon.

For twenty years we've cut the stones to build this difficult and beautiful place. Our backs ache now and our fingers bleed easily with the labor. With each passing year, we add to this dwelling. We watch Netflix and rake leaves and celebrate the passion and love extending from our children. We guide when sightlessness narrows the path. We make soup and friendships and mistakes. Twenty years of Christmas and depression and work bonuses. Days rushing forward and suddenly still. Years overflowing with nothing and everything. This New Year's Eve is twenty years. How can I just now be learning what love is? How could I know of the teachers required?

you who slips through my fingers
to pool at my feet

you who makes the way
stable and safe and clear

my left
and my right

sweeping the trail

of body parts
of hope
of despair

down to the bedrock

to the magma
to the core

to the love