i should stop speaking

out loud -make predictions

as if a prophetess

my future -goals

seem needed

forge a path forward

shoveling the snow

you get no where without effort

still -i know myself

better than i did before

talking to you did help

and the mirror no longer frightens

as i back up slowly -turn

run for the door

i never wanted to be known

i always yearn to be lost

in a forest -kind

and even the dark night of a soul

comforts me more than knowing

the future.

(Still packing my writing room. The workers ripping the carpet out of the adjoining room. So much noise. Commotion. This is my life right now. In disarray. How did this happen?)

Poetry dreamscapes listening well meaning of life philosophy this writing life