Mother, with your beautiful children
Love them, listen to them,
Their songs of simple joy and sticky-fingered afternoons
Hold on to every one before it's swept away.
We go, our paths arching twisting threads
We come back, complete somehow
Back where we started, with new information.
Run this ellipse long, just hoping we double back
Before it's too late.
Gazing, sidelong and wistful out and in.
Every step another chance to ask the question
Is it time, yet?
You always asked me, is it time yet?
The answer, not yet but soon.
In the end, did what was right,
What had to be done.
I've yet to be wrong, yet to fail.
I don't fail at anything and I'm not about to start.
Wherever the wind takes me,
I always said.
And so I asked the moon, as she stared rudely through the windows
I asked her about my path, if it was right,
If I'd ever look back in regret,
If I was making a mistake, failing myself somehow
“Will there be rainbows, day after day / what will I need to be free?”
The moon, in her wisdom, simply went on with her silent watch over the little creatures of the night,
The bats' and the owls' quiet time-keeping
And rose ever slowly in the sky.
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