Though it’s Greek
to me
to think,
“Stardate,”

I think, by now I see
it’s not so early
in my life,
but luckily,
it’s also
not too late. . .

Fresh summer morning
light diffused
ignites my sparkle,
even while
I lag a bit,
and haven’t yet
the broader view,
to see
that picture puzzle,
my life,
as one
I can make whole,
not even with the coolest Reason
nor with the hottest call of Muse. . .

But its assembly gathers slowly,
every day. . .
actions in constant reformation,
even while I honor the pace
and needs and wants
of my own way. . .

I lean and reach far out,
across this wide world’s face
as far as my whole being can,
though my reach feels way too short. . .

I mitigate self-reprimands,
which might else
too strong spew,
let loose
with unchecked force,
and risk to dim
my eye’s soul twinkle,
and knock me too far
off my course. . .

It is my journey,
but it’s fueled by grace–
not force of will
nor will of force. . .

it’s not a tale of sheer perfection
nor precision,
but of freely growing,
blooming, forming,
ever-changing, gentle spreading
power of choice
in roads I’m treading. . .

I leave a little, dusty wake
where I have walked. . .

my wistful wish?
That that wake of mine bring forth
lush love and life,
though others may
disdain my work. . .

And there’s a purpose in my stride–
as long as I’m alive–
to cope, to navigate
this earthly trek,
with trusty help
of sixth-sense guide,
in such a way,
that I will have
shed at least a little light
the world can see,
if they will only look,

and that a few folks
will have warmed and opened up a bit
for the stint
they’ve shared
upon my ride.