What this journey through time and space isn’t,
a fissure split between earth and spirit or a
mere yawn of seasons, but maybe it’s the ignorance
about the end, its invisible grasp that holds us
in a headlock we’ll never be able to escape from
that steers us free.
Our bodies a compass being navigated
led like sailors by the stars or bees by flowers.
Every day the sun, yellow orange yellow, hope
pulling life up and out with its invisible force.
Travelers we are seeds blown asunder by chance
some settled close to their origins
others adrift over land and sea, no matter
all of us just passing through, witnesses or tourists
to a time and place, waves rolling in and moving out
forgetting that we’re all headed towards the same place
and just like birds in migration our souls will know
where to go, leading towards the final excursion.
Our shells, souvenirs left upon the shore.
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