Locked and Unloaded

Skill has nothing to do with
what transpires
when the bridge washes out.

On one side
the wide expanse,
the open road,
the destiny
of non-indifference.

On this side,
the bandaged fingers
unable to grasp
the delicate sense
of pointing
out clouds.

Cumulus bands
galloping gallantly,
their free ranging
mustang stands,
midair prodding
the sky and sea…

are now
only rain
waiting
for the long trek
back to the mountains
where the entire
coursing
of veins and reins
begins again
and generations
test anew
the spans
of grace and tide.

runningturtle87