God at Last

Ah, east and its radiance unslaked! Moonlight will return to the garden path I paced. March will fade to reveal how much I have vanished. Or how much I can vanish. Who returns? The red-winged blackbird trills from yellow-crisped cattails. Spring is near. God at last.

B. puts MIT on the college visitation list. Finally Massachusetts – maybe summer – maybe autumn, like I always dreamed. We'll see what admissions has to say. I pour a dark, chewy beer in consideration of all the implications. Cambridge is so far away from here. How can so much of my heart survive that far east? I will arrive eventually. It's always been known.

The woven trail continues to rise under my pace. Spring creeks rush ahead. Day becomes a bullet beyond my half opened door. Pilates, greenhouse, shower. Dinner, stretch, sleep. This is how the in between days pass. In between spring and now. In between blue skies. In between that day we spoke of Tara Singh and the day it all just disappeared. I guess it's smarter to just say “in between days.”

I'm not lost in this winter aftermath. Pine litter carpets the base of trees and downed branches lie upon the ground like fallen bodies waiting for collection. I am strong and I still know what I want. Folded by ancients – unfold – wrap around. The moon says we should be friends. That's okay; I’ll wait for what I have always known. There is no otherwise.