was I wrong.
 
 
for a long breath of life.   living like
nothing matters.   especially the root,
        meaning me.

what compass bearing is that choice.
some say first question really is.
        eyes closed.   eyes open.
clouds broken, language shapes itself.
 
 
I am not a question of pretty, not pretty.
I am not a question of smart, not smart.
is this good heart.   not soundlessly asleep.
        trustworthy.

not a matter of wise, not wise.
yellow daffodils begin to bloom in the garden.
but it got cold again, so now they’re hesitant.
        blossoms aren’t about time.

        blossoms are about, here I am.   this is me.
        see the difference.

how much is language a raft.   what’s connecting.
        generosity, acceptance, compassion, hunger,
        thirst.   leaning the other way from indifference.
        expression, a place to roost any day of the week.

like otters in the sea.   being afloat.
being companion.   grace arrives.

in all the universe nothing matches the sense of touching you,
nothing.   kin of a thousand choices.   you move with my
        fingertips.   life, it’s true.
 
 
I’ve thought to be wise about not being here.
I mean, what we call alive.   no rules apply.
        although,

one might make for greater ease.   let go.

consider.   maybe dead is still some thing.
does a rock feel any the less for being a rock.
 
 
imagine we’re both wrong.
imagine there’s another life.
        side by side, past, future, whensoever.
        you choose.
imagine this is that one speaking to you.

        beloved.

that’s the message.   is that enough.
 
 
nothing has just one answer anymore.
if I have to choose, I choose everything.
 
 

yet in ending there is one shadow kept,
this measure a mystery, one shy ounce thus
make tomorrow more bright than regret.