each day I draw a line between what was
and what is, between what was,
and what might have been.
i draw this in thin tattoos,
like lines on a map
distant places,yet to be seen.
charting the valley, thick with mist,
pregnant with the emerging buds,
charting the desolate slopes
the sliding stones,tough heathers.
there is love, and there is also love.
if the desire takes me,
then i pause, look downwards,
sometimes,the lines point inwards.
the uncharted, the unknown,
the great believer,and great destroyer.
there is love,and then there is love.