So many ways to see the world,
all the details waiting near at hand
since we were children, yet
we take the well-worn road
without thinking. I was so sure
I knew the way around the brambles,
but you were there to open doors
when we were rebels, to suppose
other orders at play or work.
Now the bells toll, ravens wait upon
our window sills—we cannot pick
how or when we’ll go—
but where we know by the details
of our destinations. God give you
strength, old friend, to see the best.
for JCN
drycrikjournal 