(Palermo) (Sicilia 41)

oh, how it approaches near perfection.
the ship’s sails are fully flying exposed
to gusts that grunt forward and tow backwards,  or is that in reverse?
is it necessary to feel direction when movement is being noticed?
This wasn’t what I originally had in mind when I stumbled into this.

the grace of the experience.
four years, and then half way around, again!
what mighty presence you’ve indented in my mind
lost on others to discover just how
precisely grinding you’ve become.

the shocking guarantees of happiness
when it’s all just embraced for what it was.
what it is. and will be.
not what a timid turtle hiding in his shell
once believed of life.
no, when the darkness is a comfortable known friend
the mystery of what is outside is not exactly tempting;
I observe it everyday in and externally.

the wisdom of exhaling deeply
and soothing these worn shoulders from suffering
the clarity of trying, trying, guessing, not knowing
so little and throwing that caution away
boiling it in every witch’s cauldron to be found.
strangling its neck and choking the nerves until they suffer nothing less than gleeful asphyxiation.
it wasn’t the first intention I had to be so bashful.

I challenged my notions of boundaries
once I realized how restricting I’d been.
the good, the evil, the everything supposedly in between
came charging through the safari gates
strung onto a rhino horn and poked me
and injured that notion that I should be the judge.

how liberating.  how serene
and overwhelming and exactly
the solution that needed to wash me to the shores of all the wonderful experiences I’ve ever sought.