The whole continent is frozen. 

I'm not feeling the cold. 

A humidity is rising within again, thawing long frozen places.

Hidden villages where I source my true citizenship

are stirring again with their morning activities.

Allies I cannot see are carrying lanterns, accompanying me.

Even they don't want to be called anything anymore

except for...co-walker.

 

As I cross over from the dark half of the year to the light,

I remember something and feel a clutching talon release behind my ribs.

Last night I dreamed that I was a ghost

sitting at a table playing cards for my soul.

I didn't know whether to bet or to fold

and even now it seems to be my curse.

Games long held in place are drawing to a close.

Tapestries long woven are being unstitched. 

Cords from old lives have been cut and their memories fade.

The Heart-Eye is becoming clear again.

I even heard my own soul whisper to itself in the dawn's rising light:

Traveler, O Traveler, have you seen what a trap waiting is?

Life isn't meant to be put on layaway.*


(c) 2018 / Frank LaRue Owen / purelandpoetry.com

*with a deep nod of gratitude to a scholar and fellow traveler for reminding me of this notion.

sound: "End of the River" / CINEMATIC / Erik Wollo

 

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