I'm back to writing a poem every day, whether they stink or not.

Saturday, October 29, 2005

Seeking God

In a clearing formed
by dozens of converged
trails, a tent stands open.

I've come here by one
trail or another, dropped
my bag, crawled in, and slept.

By morning, the tent
is gone and I'm sitting up
at the head of countless trails.

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