Am I On The Right Path?
White pines twist east
Is this the right
road?
Light breaks through
ancient
Cathedral glass
The grass on the
roadside glows
The soft gold of oak
in
old libraries.
Pieces of dreams bend
Around my head—
Could this be the
place?
My shoes slide on
The hollowed steps in
Medieval towns—
My fingers touch the
soft edges
Of well loved books.
Logs honeycombed with age
Crumble like old silk.
So now I have come the edge of the sea
Where shells and
small stones roll
Tumble in breakers
Tumble in salty foam
So where to now?
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