Up all night
On a whim this Monday at 4am, after too long tossing and turning, I opened Notes and got to work on a poem.
Up All Night
“Hope” is the thing with feathers -That perches in the soul - And sings the tune without the words - And never stops - at all - Emily Dickinson
mind turning,
doubting my path
(details, really,
the path is fine)
the path is fine,
though winding
and shrouded in fog
it’s tiring, casting about
tiring, casting about,
i can’t help but wonder
will i always be lost
or is this the way
is this the way
it needs to go?
if i’m being honest
i don’t care for it
care for it,
meaning desire
but also nurture and tend
and even make lovely
make lovely
this wild thing?
no, all i want
is to simply behold
simply behold
a life underway
unruly unknowable
unkempt untold story
untold story
how lucky is that!
the thing with feathers
mind turning
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