Letting It Go
I’m walking on my birthday
and this time
letting it go.
Toe the line!
I’ve stopped stopping
at all the roads not taken
(you know the ones I mean)
because here’s the joke:
every road is a dead end.
So I’m just walking on my birthday
and letting it go.
In my throat, regret.
On my tongue, mourning…
but here’s coyote brush with the dew still on it,
and black sage, and sumac –
has anything ever smelled so good?
Here’s clay dust under foot, a little hot already,
sunshine clapping me on the shoulder –
and here’s a sky the exact blue of a ‘57 Chevy,
dog grinning over his shoulder,
jaybird yammering like no tomorrow –
and here I am!
And it’s my birthday!
And right this minute
- Speaking Of the Muse
- The Inventor Of The LuVailean Sonnet