[57] A Path Back

In solitude I do sit, in the cool of a summer breeze

as the wind gently carries the trees

and my thoughts gently carry me

to places where I ought to be—

and unknown places I long to be

As inspiration comes—

in the handle of a door,

a taste once had and now no more,

a glance, a face, an imaginary line across a red shore

in the whispers of thousands who speak—

and the silence of so many weeks

oh there are many paths to the mountain's peak

and humanity always found

on the ground on which we sit

where the kindest of threads—

though sometimes hidden from sight,

weave a path back—so we can transcend.