I’m sorry about the morning,
I started to type
but I had second thoughts (again)
about my reach across time and space
and what little control there is
aside from what shoes to wear
and which daydream to choose
to endure the struggle

A photo of tiny galoshes made me sad
because my children don’t need me
as much though they still curl up with me
and we laugh with more understanding now

Skirting the gaping chasm of aloneness
has become an unwelcome pastime
even when I am as still as I can be
as shadows chase my shifting boundaries

Missing a piece of myself
which may not have ever existed
except in books
then stumbling onto love is like
finding a match with a fern in the woods
only to be drawn into a storm with no shoes
while love is holding a canoe
offering a way home