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.

To challenge.

At least there is always something to do.