A Free Verse Poem
Being is creating an I
Fragmented
Into a mirage of images
Reason’s recoil
From lassoing itself
Warm, moist nostrils
In the December air
Boots bounding slowly
Sunlight reflecting
As eyelids droop
From crinkled snow
and its angry glare
On target
With breath,
A vapor of light
Fixed on the distance
Anchored in my core
Where my mind
Makes war
With my gut
With my body
And its ruts
Binds the hands and feet
Makes the present
More or less
I am pulled along
Towards home
In ways that cannot be written
But for words and stories
That have their beginnings
In the naked place
Where all my thoughts have arisen
