Infinite are life’s roads,
often past fields laid fallow in the sun.
The quietness of sparrow. The softness of
cottonwood. How did we get here?
Avalanches are born in unsuspecting screams.
Gently nudging change until
gravity takes over. Breathing is not living.
Fighting does not define heroic.
We ignore whispers in wind with the same peril
we disregard Coyote’s call.
Wind swirling at our feet is not ours, yet it takes us captive.
Brightness and light belong to others, yet
they beckon. The world has burdens
that cannot be detoured around
our carefully crafted confines, which is why,
God listens to the lost in Spanish
their suffering is muy sympatico.
R. M. Dolin, 2015