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Either Ocean
When the jigsaw rigged between my eyes
collides in a manner making sense, I see myself
on the shore of either ocean, live and submerging
as I please. I got there through my own means. In
some odd years I came into some clarity, and wrote
a few things that people seemed to like. I appeared
somewhere lit and lousy with shouting. My hands ached.
The image would threaten upheaval again, but,
I had the momentum now, and I could maintain
the lead. The path I blazed lead to a fortunate meeting,
wherein, I met someone astounding who I'd assumed
dead. But there they were, almost as if
placed for me to find. And we'd intertwine, unravel,
but only for the moment until collision again -
and just then, the puzzle pieces might loosen too soon,
yet remain, because she'd be there to settle their sway.
And I'd feel luck as if it a fact, gathered in me, growing -
harvested by something that's just beyond words,
beyond knowing,
or worth chasing after with petty concerns.
