—as told to its author
“Reluctant, I’m shy
the confidence of squirrels,
who clatter across laced branches,
reckless when the unmapped way
lays itself out or
doesn’t, the dead end,
the spring-and-give
more the living
than the solid path.
“I fear this next leap—
that a soft spot in leaves
or a sure next move
won’t rise up like a dream
or like reason—
that I might have to answer
to myself
or to some perfect image
shouldering its vague weight
onto a balance, trying
to tip the scales
favoring significance.
“Right now I’m hesitating
to inch
along this fine line
I’m barely feeling
between seeing meaning
and needing
merely being.
“Even in this
I am afraid.”
D. R. James, a year into retirement from nearly 40 years of teaching college writing, literature, and peace studies, lives, writes, bird-watches, vegges, avoids the tourists, and cycles with his psychotherapist wife in the woods near Saugatuck, Michigan, a short ride from the lovely western shores of Lake Michigan.
https://www.amazon.com/author/drjamesauthorpage