The dance of fear, Of not being enough, Stops and starts. The unknown, an Uncharted sea,

If I had all the time In the world To write, What would I say? What would be the most

As we shared stories, The warm hum of voices heard, A cup of love spilled.

The many places I have been And countless faces I have seen, The many tales to be told, Into the universe, they unfold. It’s all a passing show,

Lately, a sadness pervades, I mourn for youth, perhaps passion of younger days. With age, some of that passion

Sitting on the lake shore, Which made my heart soar, The water rippled at times, Swirled into beautiful lines, Clouds reflected in it’s mirror,

At that magical time When the yellow moon Sets, And the pink mist Of dawn,

On this New Year’s Eve Direction lost Drifting like blowing snow To and fro. A freeze comes

Perhaps it is the mind separating things into this and that. Perhaps it is the mind with it’s preferences

Half a world away, I walk a narrow, stone path. In the rice fields, the Balinese people

The white snow, thin Like sand, over The fields, blowing Across the road. My car rambles

Misty fog floating through bare trees. Cold waves of wind coarse through the woods whistling as they go

Pale blue moon Of August, Peeking behind The clouds, Luminous,

Unable to be all things For all people, Perhaps at one time, I tried. Those days are

When I first heard “The Blackbird,” In the middle Of night, I was just thirteen.