On this journey to the wide expanse
beyond the realm of night
we tarry for a moment in this clime

We pause to write a poem
plant a garden,  and on a warm
spring day we dream

Here a pine tree, there a maple
each nodding in their conversation
with the breeze

Their wisdom far exceeds
our comprehension, their dreams
we can’t conceive

but even in this sluggard mind
of mine, it comes to me this April day
when sun splashes through

the window where I sit,
that in spite of all the stumbles
that we make

we do not doubt the destination.
Short strides and lagging mind
might slow me down

and you, exuberant and wise
It’s hard to say who will be the first
to touch the stars

If I am first I’ll set a table
with your pen and inkpot.
If I’m the one

that’s left behind
I will not mourn your peace,
a moment’s selfish tear

and then a celebration
of the poet that you are
kindred  on this journey that we make.

                                   ~~~~~

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