MY STORY

  MY STORY

 

In telling, I pray

for beginner’s luck,

not happenstance,

more open invitation

to unearth fragments.

 

Not a solemn priest distributing

thin wafers of the absolute;

more a batter in the box,

bat raised, slowly cocked,

assaying each measured gift

from elevated clay,

fashioning a loud congruence

of arcing ball and wood,

rapidly climbing Jacob’s ladder,

distancing the fence.

Each swing, a thrust

for favoured, fertile ground.

 

Stories seek telling;

gardens yearn for depth.

Each bulb a flamenco pulse,

a stubborn venous surge of blood

mounting for renewal.

 

My story is a magic carpet ride

transporting a runner home

to a sacred place of resonance

to intersect in myth,

that playful point of entry

of planets and bright stars,

contemplating creative clouds,

unencumbered like a child.

 

When I share it with you,

and follow its twists and turns,

the task is not to guide, 

but discover where I've been.