Flight

I was a good girl.
I drove all the way home between the white lines.
My vision was blurred -- not from tired, not from tears
But from love.
I drove all the way home between the white lines.
I felt like an animal --
with no feelings, no thoughts to guide me through my actions.
Just pure, hard, courage
That I didn't think I had.
Somewhere in my engorged organ
I felt a thump.
Then nothing.
Nothing at all
as
I drove all the way home between the white lines.

Secret Message

"Those who love the most,
Do not talk of their love,
Francesca, Guinevere,
Deirdre, Iseult, Heloise,
In the fragrant gardens of heaven
Are silent, or speak if at all
Of fragile inconsequent things.

And a woman I used to know
Who loved one man from her youth,
Against the strength of the fates
Fighting in somber pride
Never spoke of this thing,
But hearing his name by chance,
A light would pass over her face."

where we are

"i envy those
who live in two places:
new york, say, and london;
wales and spain;
l.a. and paris;
hawaii and switzerland

there is always the anticipation
of the change, the chance that what is wrong
is the result of where you are. i have
always loved both the freshness of
arriving and the relief of leaving. with
two homes every move would be a homecoming.
i am not even considering the weather, hot
or cold, dry or wet: i am talking about hope."
- Gerald Locklin

I agree Gerald. And I am soon to be one of those you envy. One who lives in two places. One hot and dry, one cold and wet. Both home. I am talking about hope.