Page 35 - flying stones

I do recall the fading moments of that summer

late dissolving into early dusk,

so much so that coming upon a field I never
knew was there,

I was suddenly aware that I had to make

my own way, alone in an uncertain time and place,
a stranger to whoever-he-was who wore my

face - who started my day and then lost control.

and then I understood what you know now:

how the itch that made you rub the tree

helped you shed the skin.

you may appear the same,

but the difference you sense within
sources the root of your “eye” of being:

the lense that compasses you home.