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