It Matters

The Comrade’s 

sweepings of life are 

spread like cumulus clouds 

guiding ribbons of rivers.

That moment’s rest at the house

Of the hurting kind–mist.

“Enough!”   the woman warbled,

So now fledgling,

Let’s rest in motion, 

padding barefoot, claw foot 

down nature’s asphalt

unknown 

what wafty thoughts 

found waving from the shallows

may conjure forth images in 

ancient minds. Thoughts

wolf like, hurtling,  

so charged

to finger the forearm

of intentions

and touch the bit 

of friendly love.

And so it is, the wolf and I

Driving, diving, 

deep-in, heavy

Conversation, traveling

tiptoe down concrete 

town we skirt 

the city of in-

Humanity, still standing.

And wonder 

wherein that honeycomb 

of human existence 

glides about

The essence of one. 

On purpose

(With thankfulness extended to Karina Skrypnik for sharing her photo on Unsplash)