I sat in a meeting

wondering

what I might do

to get ahead.

Mount Kilimanjaro

could be climbed.

The mountain

doesn’t play favorites.

Politics

are

19,000 miles

from the summit—

snowy footsteps

blown away.

Writing stops, when we don’t feed it.

I went for a run

at night

and the cedar trees

rose up

into the dark.

It was crisp and cold.

The woods—a silhouette

against the moon.

My future

is

found

above the clouds

in that pale white orb.

2 thoughts on “My Future is Found Above the Clouds

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