Cavern

Cedar and birch drift beneath stone arch,
carrying you, carrying me, like the aliens we are
through black hole into universe unknown.

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Crossroads

My crossroads were a metaphor,
because where was I when I realized the road before me forked?
In the reclining chair,

painting the epistemic situation in the distinctive shades
of sand, sun, and tumbleweeds- nothing but dust and wind on either
side as far as eye could see. And how was I to choose between,
and win or lose or even move?

But that’s the thing about crossroads. You never paint their metaphor
if you find sitting still an option.
It would be a third path, and you would plow on. So,
pressure. Tick, tock.

But my crossroads were a metaphor! I finally realized,Read More »