When birds fly past me and I miss their wings, but feel their strength.
To flip the switch.
But there is no switch –
The keeping going of the keeping going.
Each churn of the cell is a connection regained,
Re-lost, whichever the movement may be.
Not to indulge,
In insult or injury,
In love-lust or unluck,
Speaks languages beyond dreams.
Askance in peacock attitudes,
Where mind and mouth do not talk,
Wilderness is seen as unkempt and ungainly.
It is easy – and preferable – to get lost.
Returning from circular motions
Of you and me, and them,
There is no rest for the challenged.
At least there is always something to do.