فرافکنی

Not fast, not late, not brave, not strong,

Like a wrong note holding on,

On way back home

No orders left to disobey,

The way the river finds its way.

On way back home

The snow laid out its paperwork

Across my coat and skin,

Each flake a small amendment

I never signed it in.

Someone unplugged the heavens,

No signal, no reply,

So silence said your name to me

And taught my mouth why.

Without a map that still believes,

Past the borders and their teeth,

On my way back home

I fed them what they couldn’t keep,

On feet that learned to sleepwalk free.

On my way back home

The wolves stepped from the darkness

Asked me what I served,

I didn’t give them reasons,

I gave them what I loved.

They lowered their religion,

They recognized the sound

Of something moving forward

Without the need for ground.

Not righteous, not redeemed,

Just persistent as a dream,

On my way back home

I don’t resist, I don’t obey,

By gently getting out the way.

On my way back home

If I arrive as breath alone,

As rumor, as a trace,

Forgive me—

Even absence has a face.

The way does not keep records,

The fire does not count,

It burns what it is given

Without an if or when or how much.

Don’t count the days, they lie,

Time’s just a clerk in a crooked tie,

On my way back home

What flows survives the lame,

Without a reason, without a name.

On my way back home

On my way back home

I already was.