Confessional

There are parts of me that bear dark water,

the pail overflowing until I snuff my own

flame.

My sense of direction has never been keen

I require both map and compass, and still,

I do not lead well (or follow).

Surely, I am more echo than smoke signal,

my spirit never seen in steady patterns,

its origin unknown, everywhere and nowhere,

scattered over cliff and canyon.

How then will you find me?

How will I become the light that leads you

through forests by night?

I have long ago surrendered the answers.

Faults and fears in abundance, I can promise

only one thing; that my heart will forever

lean toward yours, like a tree growing

into the sun. Two parts self, one part sky.