Journeys
A long time ago I knew the way to China,
now my daughter knows
that the world is not flat
that sweet grass grows everywhere
in the worldly winds.
The sun rises here and there,
headlights for the traveler that reckons his day
by the positions in the heavens.
A long time ago I knew the way to Paris
and wrote a long path in my journal,
now my daughter knows
that the sidewalks are colored with artists
and that the sun walks barefoot
on sharp steps, that lead to bright lamps
that it is wise to follow.
I do know this.
The sun on this mountain may strike like gold.
The sun may hide in laurel rocks or frigid cold.
A million dreams will find a million places
when they need somewhere to go
Thoughts branch beyond barbed wire and twist
into words that race across
my monetary drawbacks and obligated hills.
Birds bring small songs to the dogwood tree.
My dogs give a welcome that a queen should receive.
Racing quickly or merely sitting,
I feel. I feel.
While my mind claims dimensions
that only words can secure
And on those journeys
I am free, but not here.