Weeks, months, years of driving by
stationary horses, content
to eat their oats and pick at the ground
with an occasional stare at the horizon
beyond their fences.
But today,
running horses,
one after another as I drove by,
and they didn’t seem to notice
much except their own circle paths,
running, running, through mud
and December as if one day
was much the same as the next.

The drive was colored blue,
a sort of blur of darkening sky
as I hurtled from one place
to another, just as small as ever.
For a moment, I was lifted
by a song, but that ended
-as most things do, so I drove on
in a quiet blur, feeling a little
lost along the stars just beginning
to show through the twilight.
I think it’s almost Christmas.

The tallies don’t quite add up.
I’ve given what I could.
Struggled. Will probably always struggle.
Because I don’t know how to be content
for long. I’ve stretched. I’ve held back.
I’ve rarely faked it. But I’ve exaggerated.
Somehow the totals seem to be heavy
on the blessings I’ve been given.
Too many. It almost hurts to face them
sometimes. Because I’m not worthy
of the sun let alone the moon.
But I take them just the same, greedy for light.

I have a beautiful old compass
but it stopped spinning long ago,
fixing on one spot on the horizon
and I wonder if that’s what I do-
if that’s why I’m so often lost,
ignoring direction for a point fixed
in a time or place chosen before me.

I used to worry about such things
but have learned to trust something
unnamed that calls me in your direction
as though I was made for such a journey
to you and the where is irrelevant.

You’re fiery, like a faraway sun
but I can hold you
and get burned the same
over and over again
-except it’s strangely more comforting
because I don’t want to learn
anything that takes me away from light
because my corner is so very dark
and we are warmth and hope
in a small but exploding world.