Starpath

In the early morn
before the fire of dawn could break the skies in half
and burn my dreams and make them fall
apart
into ashes
and in bright light, harsh heat, reveal the silhouette of reality,
I left.
With my toes first
and a half-baked thought second,
I stepped
out into the dark fog, the cold winter air.
There, veiled in water droplets and secrecy, I collected my limbs.
I stepped with my heels first
and opened my eyes last
and then began
walking.
My toes recognized the grounds
I walked on
was gliding on
blindly.
They lifted me off the ground just as they did
way back when
way back when.
There I floated
on the path
the path where we picked stars.
What happened with those? Were they
youthful
dreams? Broken
hopes?
They promised to continue to shine.
Or do they die when you take them
to keep them?
The path was muddier than in the summertime.
It was still
deserted,
still filled with our touch. Somehow.
I shivered. I
stopped.
My eye-lashes reached out first
through the fog,
and greeted it, the meadow.
Still peacefully tucked into the hillside,
the meadow was awakening slowly.
It yawned, smirked at me.
Under the grand trees,
it was just as smitten when it first saw
us
there
naked.
In the sigh of the morning breeze
I wrapped my arms around
myself
to keep warm
to keep whole.
Why had I
come
to the star path?
To find the sparkle?
It wasn’t there, for sure.
A ray
a bold, bold ray
suddenly
pierced through the
fog
like a child’s laughter heals the world
and enveloped me,
held me close.
It didn’t burn, didn’t sting, just caressed
my forehead
where the furrows had grown
in doubt
but had now evened
in serenity.
Cheekily, it began tickling me
under my toes.
It breathed on me, gave me movement.
So my feet began running,
dancing.
There I danced in the morning sun
on the star path
My Road Less Traveled.
I twirled, I twirled, and couldn’t
stop,
didn’t want to
didn’t know how
just as I didn’t know how
to forget
the times I floated
on clouds
and the promise
of seeing you again.
As the last layer of fog let go of my body,
it bent over one last time,
whispering into my ear:

It’s in the eyes,
the sparkle,
just as the magic lies in the touch
not in the places you’ve been
or the songs you’ve heard.
Now go. Dance. And see
what happens.