. Under the Falcon's Wing

My steps are light as i begin the journey

to another where, to another when.

The ground crests and swells as if it were

waves sweeping about me

pulling me down the river of dirt and forever.

I do not want to stop. I do not want to.

I do not want. I do not. I do.

But at the same time: i do not want to keep going.

Keep going, move forward.

How far have i come?

What time is it?

That is the real question.

Even when i am a mile above the mile-high city

on a trail that takes me away from it all

i am still on the same train as everyone else...

Time is a one-way ticket.

(and don't you forget it)

Pausing to rest a moment along

the western bend of Devil's Elbow,

i see an ant carrying a ladybug, no,

dragging a ladybug across three feet of stone.

The ladybug doesn't seem to mind.

I look out across the hills and miles and

measure the beauty of you.

All the grandeur of God's grand design

touches me in a way i never noticed before.

The rolling pine-filled valleys and high timberline rises

are measured in my mind as some portion of rules

i have never seen,

knowledge i will never need.

At some even points in the trail i run.

I run out of the intractable joy of the run.

And I run as ships that run up the mainsail

and fly before a wind that takes them away from the night

as they (or i) could find any protection from the sun.

But the night always comes.

The night comes with clouds of hazy thoughts,

feelings and fears that i brought with me.

And under the cover of dark

the spells of ancient hells writhe unbroken;

i try to hide from what follows me,

things better left unspoken.

And i face something that i have always known:

that my legs are tired, my feet are sore;

it is time to go home.

9.1.1997