May My Feet Walk the Path

There are two stories
weaving through me
twisting sinews
already taut with pain and panic.
I am bereft, adrift,
choking on loneliness
and all that is unspoken.
Time seems a torment,
myself a prisoner within it
and there is a peace in naming it.
I have no words of beauty or wisdom,
nothing of value to give.

Still, there is richness here;
joy and sorrow both flavor the salt
running down my face.
It’s all soil, in the end,
and the work to which we turn our hands,
Broken as they may be
and mourning.
We are held, rooted,
nourished and nourishing.
It is, quite simply,
What it means to walk
the path within you,
Following the taste of your own life unfolding
Whatever may come.

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