No matter how good I am at pausing the trip
or how stopping grants rest
it’s waiting again (not always a bad thing)
the open sea – virtuous call
of knowledge – and if Ulysses calls
to journey you cannot refuse
the mad flight that makes a man true
And then you dive in, trying to reach as soon
as your arms will take you the faraway shore
where you hope someone will be waiting for you
Someone who can give you an honest mirror
from which you can seek guidance:
which way home?
the stop becomes ever lighter
if already you think about other walks
about other journeys and fantasies –
looking but not always getting there
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