The rugged terrain of space.
What it must cost
to extend an arm into nothing, carve a pattern through the air.
The cost, some days
of a gesture, of travel across a room, of raising my gaze.
I walk in heels, bare legs moving under me as I sway,
back and forth and back and forth.
I reflect on the journeys I have made–wonder
what journeys you have made–
to get here.
What is your path?
Did you stumble here Darling,
at the end of some trip, some bender, or spree?
Did you come galloping across the rugged terrain, a conqueror, a cowboy?
Were you moved by impulse, some happy mistake, or
did you think about me today? Maybe on your lunch break
you adjusted the tie away from your throat and a smile crossed your face.
Did you come here as ritual, a way to pay homage, a way to trust the moment?
Did you come here to see or be seen?
Did you come here to save or be saved?
Did you flee?
Perhaps you have come here across miles and miles of impassable, impossible mountains, pursued across space, preserving only the Dharma in your heart and a deep, profound need to be of benefit, to help the suffering.
Did you come here to help me know my mind?
Did you come here to help me be kind?
Did you save the last dance for me?
I imagine you came here as a gift.
I imagine myself as the present.
Let me bring you here for an hour of beauty. Please.
Did you come here as part of the hustle?
The choiceless choice, the flow?
I imagine you came here as a way to care. Let me share some.
I don’t need to know the regular stories.
Leave those clamoring beasts at the door; they cost far too much.
Reach inside and find the most quiet, the most secret,
the most awe-full.
We can make it all up if we want.
What if we told a story that was completely new?
Is it even possible?
We might meet for a moment.
We may fall in love, so fortunate.
We may wonder if we will ever meet again
Walking our paths.
I walk my path some days in six-inch heels.
