Be honest with yourself:
there has been no long night of the soul,
no wrenching loss – not really, not recently.
The dark has come and gone through your life,
like the light and dark of lights on a freeway
in the night, the journey
mostly routine, sometimes disorienting, only occasionally
frightful. You merely find yourself,
a traveler – by choice, you will remember –
in distant lands. Perhaps
you will find friends here. Perhaps
a home. More likely a bed, a pillow,
a place to soak a back stiff
with stagnancy, work to fill
your mind and hands with. Your fear,
always, of empty hands, open hands and
closed arms – yours or theirs, I wonder?
There are no barriers on your road,
only borders to overcome,
not an adventure,
just a journey. “I’m lucky,” you say,
and think of every other place
you could become, of –
What was that word? No no, in Japanese.
Aa, もっと, motto, more.
You remember, sip your peach wine,
remind yourself of the full table before you.
Soon, dawn will roll over green hills,
and you will be overwhelmed,
like the river
that becomes the flood,
in all you do not know.