Good Life

At 22

I was between 12 and 32

and now at 26,

I’m neither here

nor even there,

and yet I’ve

seen the bright spheres circle

across the incandescent

of many a wane

and waxing

crescent moons.





While seeking the cosmology

of everything I may ever know

or remotely understand

the threads unwind to weave

a quilted, cultural mosaic

of my own undiscovered mythology

that was woven within me at birth.





The flower blooms

for the first time in forty years

and the female spirit in the northern mountain

no longer drinks the crystal from the springs,

because of the stagnant sulfur taste

that remains riddled in the resin

from poor years of the Depression.





She has seen many spheres circle

and as she speaks in the tone

of her thirty-five year old voice

she reveals the air of Earthly eros—





”Love is not what you seek,

but it is in what finds you.”





Something so wise,

she must sometimes

feel the truth

like I do,

when I need it.





In the voiceless wind of the whisper,

I would like

to believe it.





I hope that she

still believes it too.

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