I lie awake at night
and during the day
and I think of the opportunities
I have passed and I have missed.

I think of the infinite lives,
intersection points and how
one small decision, detail, or word
changes the path, changes the course,
changes who I am.

I lay upon the wood picnic table
beneath the jack and red pine.
Afternoon sun streams through the tops
and my eyes are closed.

Birds sing, squirrels chatter
and the dog barks.

I give in to the wind carrying
fragments of trees to me
and lifting fragments away.

I stop fighting the feeling
of nothing, I let go of fear
of being myself, and being.


I lie awake and fear consumes
each thought.

That core driving thought of purpose
and why am I here has surfaced and
begs to be answered.

I have no words, my mouth moves
and nothing emerges.

I stare at blank sheets of paper
as the pen dries and the edges
curl, and yellow.

Notebooks filled with emptiness
slowly become the life’s work.

Distant peaks fall and disappear
in the fields.

I look for days and weeks
and the letters are scrambled,
the paper burns and the ashes
are carried away.


The fields grow strong with each drop
pine needles fall like rain, their warm
scent blankets everything
awakens my mind.

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