I've contemplated what it might be like
To give up and give in because I’ve been
Shattered bits for a time and two quarters,
All amidst angry ferocious waters.
Somedays I find myself trapped in a cave
That I’ve mistaken for a safe haven.
I’ve never before seen a blue feather
Beam across a night sky nor have I seen
An ole owl sing and not been mesmerized by
The miss-tree that is infinitely cloaked in its his-tree;
I consistently interrogate my own vigilance.
Every story that I have yet to write
Stems from instances of intersection and digression;
My mind exists somewhere between an ocean and a stream.