I enjoy escape into places that have proven
to be successful retreats for others.
I read constantly.
Reading makes me feel less alone in my work,
my friends have been through this before me
and they have left little presents for me
and notes, still warm from thought.
When I come out of these little vacations,
I must step off of the trails, that
have been so carefully marked and designed;
concern that I will finish showing in detail.
I throw off these blankets, proven warm by others,
and walk about in the brisk cold, uncovered in the
uncertain light of a perpetually early morning.
There are no signs marking my way now,
this is the environment in which we work,
but there is direction, undeniable and unmutable.
There is merciless direction.
I thrive when making trails, it feels clean and good;
this phenotypic expression of myself is expensive,
I can't sustain it long.
I exhaust myself quickly
and soon return to these little vacations
and the comforting presence
of friends who give
and need, simply, that I receive.
This companionship is unconditional
and can only be offered by those separated
from us by time.
I'm proud to be a future friend
of so many thinkers and writers,
once lonely, but no more.
I read them for rest and because an embrace
has a value for both parties.
Similarly, I make trails and retreats,
preparing the way for future friends and lovers
to take little vacations with me,
walking the trails that I have
so carefully marked for them,
and hopefully intersecting with their own
merciless direction, so that we can,
across time, find comfort in each other.