Granite monuments not formed by hands,
Prime pieces for climbing, or sitting, or waiting;
A palette of beiges and browns spread out
That surround us all.
Brightly colored backpacks move
Like honing devices to guide us as
We trek –we humans in the wild,
Crossing the desert.
In a land that is feral and untamed
Where the thorns and gnarled trees rise up –
There is walking and talking and snapping
Pictures of the joy.
In the midst of this, as I both hoped and feared,
My heart finds a home. A home within another
Who walks beside me; A home both within reach and yet –
A lifetime away.
These are the worst of things, are they not?
For what “could never be,” never strays into the mind
Settling down cozily to stay awhile;
Tormenting the mind with its devious devices.
It passes on by.
But the “what ifs?” and “maybe so’s” –those are the real
Saboteurs of the mind and heart that like desert growth
Appear welcoming from afar, but upon touch prove
A spike in the foot.
But what do we do? The mind and heart wander on
Like our group in the desert. Seeking a trail to
Cool water and the security of a known place
Within the wild…
Amidst a palette of beiges and browns and
Brightly colored backpacks, my heart and mind
Find either a hotel or a home. Only the
Way forward will tell
Which of them it is.