To Write

What does it matter what I want
When the sun rises
Before I’ve had a chance to dream
A dream of what once was
What could have been
What still might happen
If only I remembered
How to dream

Of what to dream?

What does it matter that I want to
See the world
Stay in hotels I’d never let my children enter
Fly on a whim
Landing wherever

My feet will never walk the many lands for which I yearn
My eyes will never see old women doing what they do
In all the different ways of all the different places
Their hands all speaking the same language
Whatever their land may grow
Whichever city they are surviving
As it bustles the way cities do
When there’s too little space for all the living

I won’t live my life
Crossing borders
Raising glasses
Breaking bread
Learning bits of tongues
Here and there
Making them my own
For just a moment
Being of a place I’ve only just discovered
So truthfully as if there could have been no other way
For my heart to feel whole
To be full

What is more beautiful?

To live to write
Only to write
To dream of this would end all dreams
This vision I once carried in my mind
Perhaps still carry
Albeit now in my heart

Coffee shop corners
Shady pubs
Benches in parks
Sand dunes
Stoops and curbs
Any place to rest my feet
Jot down some notes on
Where the day had taken me
To whom

Later lie on the floor of a yurt
Or maybe in a hammock by the sea
Or sit on a balcony overlooking a busy street
Or maybe on an empty crate in a bazaar
Maybe retreat into a grove behind an ashram
Or sit on the floor of a hotel room
Smoking and typing
Stringing together notes
Scribbled on napkins, coasters
Inside matchbooks
On the backs of business cards
In notebooks
On my phone

To write
To tell the story of a day
A remarkable woman
A broken man
A child playing on the side of a road
A mother’s loss
A lovers’ quarrel
A funeral for a beloved father
Or an abhorrent tyrant
A woman walking her three-legged dog
A chance encounter on a trolley

To watch life being lived
In all the ways that it can be
To live it well
To walk the earth
And always find a corner
To retreat
To write
To tell the stories that are being lived

But there’s no more cradling this dream
How dare I
When all it does is end all other dreams

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