The Way

night blooming cereusThis is the way we walk our destiny,
one hand on the light, one hand on the shadow.
Feet tread the ground gently,
sole making the imprint of
the bear, the butterfly.

When we start out again,
old soul wears a new body.
We run, shout, bound through the woods.
Time passes, wounds pierce, sear—
the light becomes dimmer . . .

River of forgetfulness
engulfs, wears us down.
Pinched and forlorn,
we don’t know why we came here or how to get home.
We try to escape. It works, but not for long.

Mystery, still unsolved,
we meet someone.
In a lightning flash of knowing:
a face so familiar, the eyes, the sound
of the voice. The connection

drives us on dark, slippery roads
or wide open ones.
Whatever it takes
to make the heart break, then beat again.

What we find in the end
is our true selves:
born to, knitted to, lashed to, sewn to, tied to, part of
something greater—than we’d ever imagined.

Elise Stuart

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