The tributary flows free at both extremes,
and yet I doubt which direction carries me.
The mountaintops wrap themselves in clouds,
find comfort in the sharpness of each gouge.
The deserts blaze in flares of orange and red;
defying drought, the heat of what’s ahead.
The lakes of glacier stretch, yawn in afternoon;
wink and tip their hat at verse I groom.
Everything else, I’ll learn to dissolve it all;
I make myself relive and then recall.
When I’m lonely,
you are the only.
When I’m still as sadness,
you burst with gladness.
When I’m buried in doubt,
you shovel and shout, shovel and shout.
Everything else,
I don’t need to carry that through.
Everything else,
I bequeath to all of you.
Yard Sale of Thoughts 
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