You travel far away in place
to know the story only you chase
the slush of snow, or rain that pours
down, down saturating the earth,
as you look to find the closest berth
as the water forms in pools
on the street like fences or jewels.
Jump over or wade through to reach a drier view
welcoming your foot, like a worn-out shoe,
or an unexpected pleasure that pushes through
the mundane and sameness of days
secretly hoping to be changed
to match the story being arranged
to capture what's meant just for you.
Slow the time, speed the dream
it matters none, the power beams
hold the light and jump through
to the first thing your story tells you,
not that of kin or the chagrin of others
no, don't put it in the bin—
the jewel's for you
jump over, wade through
either way, your berth awaits—you.