Perhaps it isn’t wise to love a sailor.
Good things sweep away in summer storms
but the tides are unpredictable
and times have changing patterns
when the breezes shift.
I left my compass in the cupboard
wrapped in faded charts
and i couldn’t see the stars.
I should have thought before I lifted anchor.
I should have thought before we left the land.
I can only tell you that I’m sorry
that I had to loose your hand.
patterns
Migrations
so much is shared through migrations
like birds dropping seeds in the garden
some will flourish, some wont
flowers, fruits and weeds
looking back on history
and the incessant weave of the world
i see patterns intertwined, growing
interchange of arts and design
leaves that bud from one tree
the branching of language and speech
a map of where we’ve all been
it says nothing of where we are going
in this we know less than the birds
The Dreaming Path 