Does the wolf choose to leave the pack?
Howling alone on a steep cliff,
sadness slips through the thicket, touching crowded nests.
Does solitude choose us? or
Are we forced to break apart?
The tribe wrestles and tears, creating rifts miles long.
Stress lifts a lonely hill from a confused mass
as children of the crust grind for freedom.
A mountain grows weary carving space on a crowded ridge —
screeching past sediments as streams run into rivers
and rubble amounts to something supportive.
A dawning mass stretches plateaus and widens valleys
leaving space for springs to sprout, brooks to bellow, does to roam.
Sovereign peaks emerge at the expense of closeness.
Water takes its uncharted course across the cracked earth
from heaven’s tear to a mother’s gushing,
always returning to the clouds.
Spiral sprinkles her grief on seeking;
howling stirs newborns sleeping.
Eager dreams are born to try
the messy dance of being alive.