Where does the shady path lead?
Can I pass my time curled in this womb, the entanglement exhaling around me?
Can I linger on warm sand sifting through fingers, toes, hair,
watching light flit limb to limb,
stretching wide to fondle feather-soft fronds?
Can I leave my mind empty, embracing pure now—
not planning, plotting, projecting,
not retracing, repeating, replaying—
just being present here now?
Can I ripple side to side within these gentle curves?
I lift my head to stare beyond my mountain toes as the distant point, narrow and diamond-glittery, becomes a phantom.
My open eyes do not see beyond their lids, so, on sharp elbows I begin the slow digging creep, my body following as my crown leads off the page.
This shady path leads where.