Traveling

My path is tortured, tortuous, twisted and delightful.
Around every turn is the inevitable unexpected.
I see near and far other paths with their rises, mountains, plains and vales
and pine for them. Wistful choices not mine to make.

By turns the yearning deepens abysmally.
Rivers run with lost possibility, fed from my aquifer of tears.
Loss taps into geysers, smoothing sharp pains.
And I keep moving, curious.

On a rise, I turn back to behold an amazing vista,
the marvelous scope of my life. Only then do I comprehend
the landscape sculpted by experience, deeply detailed by pain and by love,
colored by feeling, and shaded by other paths entwined with mine.