towing the line biding my time

head down i am the Indian making my way

toward the mountain on the horizon far away

I don’t know how or if I’ll ever get there

aside from one foot in front of the other

there is nothing but the walking to claim

it’s high tide here and I’m swimming upstream

clammed shut in my anemone poked with a stick

night has shut the door to your sight

the sun will eventually rise and

will leave bare what is now invisible

to the eye when the moon retires the tide

at the right time exposed secrets like treasure finds

rays of light kiss the cliff’s every nude imperfection

tracing its bas-relief of surrender and embrace

indiscriminately enveloping the rock’s face

it’s this touch that wants so much

it builds the walls that long to protect

but fall they must and crumble past

the structured scripts of talking points

but I am inscrutable behind the depths

on the surface so placid and strong

yet within I’m viciously alive and mostly blind

I hold on because there is no other choice

I feel you move inside me like a spirit

the feeling that guides me gently and quietly

sustains me through it all

intimately pressed against the drive

to be everything most inconvenient to be

fair-minded and selfless means to abandon

the legend in my own mind one day at a time

don’t put the cart before the horse baby

truth revealing its tricks like flipping cards

the bittersweet of being known

is uncomfortable so bravely I lean in

it’s your talk that makes me walk

it’s your soft that makes me hard

savage the thrust of passage

fraught with treacherous twists

take that however you like

the only way out is through

so little time so much to do

and so many points of view but which

will take my heart to you on a platter

down the centermost point of the matter

laughter and tears are the building blocks

of bonds

what takes away the warmth

is the arid season of giving and being wronged

in return

there is no going back