buttoned down hatches
cleaned windows and heart scrubbing
not brilliant
but flicker fire, gentle ember
tired, tired, bone tired nights
future planning and head picking
digging up dead roots, trying to appreciate
worn edges and scuffed shoes
"Solitude, says the Moonshell."
And I'm learning rose pucker and blaze dreams
will never leave my cheeks
but my dry baby hands
work better with raw dirt and a shovel
my heart better with time against a pillow and spring breaths
strength has strong kin with silence
loudest voices rarely say the most
gathering inner solitude
and facing loneliness to call its bluff
And I've spent much of this year in shells
drawing maps for my next oceans
and I thought I'd store some regrets in clench canisters
but I've run out of room
I've turned my voice down to the outside
to hear my ocean roar inside
simply grateful
for this flawed, fragile, stepping stone year
with its crooked path into the next
ocean tears and sunset, sunrises
And as this new year places its porcelain feet across my crooked track
I find I'm ready to sort what I've found inside
and maybe even a little of what lies ahead
Thank the good Lord that roads are made to curve
Because Lord knows I don't walk straight
Sunrise this morning 12/31/2013
"Solitude says the Moon Shell"-Gift From The Sea by Anne Lindbergh
