I like to wait in a space for a long time

because the sights and sounds and smells

of something unfamiliar

is impossible to savor

without being present.

A fine wine

must be breathed

A life

must be lived.

The blood of life circulates within me

like the wind, moving through the trees.

I find myself getting drunk, most of the time

or not wanting to drink at all.

We drink the same wine, until it’s like water

We demand a miracle

We whine about it

like a pig, drinking from the slaughter.

How many of us

are raised

to follow a predictable path

with hang-ups

sold at market?

We have to sell ourselves

to please other people, compare ourselves

to feel better

about who we are

and the price we pay, is always the same

We lose ourselves,

trying to get what we don’t need.

Pound for Pound

we are worth more

than a part of us

sold at auction.

What is right in front of us?

a dream, without desire

the wind

vast mountains

the sunset

and the heavenly places.