crossing over

There are two ways to change:

fully realize who you are in this moment and place,

and what you want and need will come to you

as your eyes open to the world around you.

Or, you might set your sights on the distant land,

and take action. Track down the change by moving to it.

All I know tonight is that I am on this side,

and I can see the other place I need to be.

The path between the two is clear, even short.

Even the light shines on the handrailing invitation

toward movement. See it?

So I could get up and walk there,

cross to the westbound side, right now.

I could turn off this computer,

stop writing words to an audience of one,

and see what awaits me.

But I also know that I have the high vantage,

the best view of the setting sun.

And a golden light is pouring over me right here,

as I think about the day: how Sheridan held me

and cried, her bird heart beating against mine.

How Jennie and I ate cupcakes on Main Street,

how Tori stopped her car to get out

and give me a kiss on my cheek while I was talking on the phone.

How Chris told me there is no one who can do what I do.

How Tavish made a monocle from a long clover stem.

How the solstice air felt against my face riding here,

how the moon looks over my shoulder, right now,

one half guarding the lip of the day, the other awaiting the night.