sometimes I am afraid
that I will lose them,
those precious truths
I cling to so hungrily,
in the sea of needs
that say otherwise

but when I sit in still
and allow the tide to
wash away all that
is not me,
I find they are
always there waiting

ready to be discovered
ready to be claimed
ready to be lived,
as many times
as many ways
as many tides

as the heart needs



what a terrible
thing to be placed
way up high
on a pedestal

to balance precariously
on the cusp of
projected ideal

may I take my
dirt and grit,
sinking deep roots
into the raw earth,
so my beautifully flawed
limbs can better reach
the clean, wide sky

and never become
a propped up imitation of self,
in service to illusion

for I fear I would
not survive the fall
from such great heights



not where I was
not where I’d like to be
but somewhere in between

where how are you
becomes an exercise
in complication,
and I start to realize
in choosing to trade
the illusion of certitude
for an agreement of growth,
I have unwittingly invited
this ambiguous stranger
into my tectonic space

not there, not where, but here
life right now,
somewhere in between