I could be wrong.
How would you prove it, arriving at the edge of my bed with your expectations?
But it feels different from my side.
It feels watchful, this silence.
It feels gentle and trusting........to wait.
I'd rather not worry that I'm wrong to be warm and quiet,
observing quietly my inner spaces,
spaces so deep that images from last night's dreaming remain out of focus, unnecessary, only slightly tasted as an eagle’s path.
If I could put all this into a new form that I could see and know, I would.
My creative life is changing the form it takes.
quiet under the covers,
feeling reconnection slow and sure.
trusting I'm not wrong.
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