Has its flaws

I felt it on the back of my neck,
a puff at first, licking at the sweat
soaked threads of tangled hair
that lay complacent on a broad reach

Telltales of the human kind that
whisper to the meta states before
transforming into siren calls of
change, something different,
something new, something
longed for in the quiet doldrums
trapped by endless drifting
on the boundless sea

My body turned instinctively
to face the tease, while my mind
remained behind, still stuck in
the quicksand grip of fading
memories, and slow surrender

And then the spray, from a swell
across the bow, a jolt of innocence
against a wall of indecision,
splashing hard my cheeks and
forehead, stinging splintered
lips and wincing unfocused eyes

A sudden rise came next, followed
by its fall, to weave their way into
a gentle roll that slowly
rocked the beam

Announcing arrival of the gusts,
scattered bursts at first, a panoply
of warm and cool that pressed
against my back and swam around
to fill, then leave the yearning sails

I hauled the sheets in closer, hoping
to capture the moment of the wind,
and though my preplanned destination
called the course I had been on, I
turned the wheel against the grain
and bid farewell, to the lee shore

I gazed out into the distance, where
whitecaps smiled at me, I smiled back
cranking sheets to the full
measure of the keel, and rode the
surging waves oncoming, taking
the howling wind on filling,
with its breath

my lungs, once again

With wings delivered,
he escaped the labyrinth
that once was prison to
the mighty minotaur, and
then to Daedalus in its stead

His patriarchal path before him,
his flight to safety was begun,
but freedom still remained
beyond his reaching grasp,
beyond the edge of his horizon,
freedom still remained

And so he strayed, from what
he knew to what he dared,
and left behind familiar shores,
searching for release from chains
still binding, searching
still for something more

He paid no heed to warnings
that only held him to his past,
and answered cries of sorrow
with distance rising, fast
into the clouds, away from
mourning eyes and far
from clutching hands,
he flew away, into the sky
and then into the sun

With wings reclaimed,
he escaped the labyrinth
that once was prison to
his dreams, the fountain
of his thoughts and
visions yet unseen

With wings reclaimed,
he fell into the sea
and rose up to the surface,
where he would breathe free

When snowmelt
from the highest peaks
cascades into valleys
below, it rushes down
arroyos, leaping over
boulders, circling
round eddies,
and settles into
lakes and pools
that echo
the azure sky

Along the way,
it finds itself
in blades of rising
grass, on barren
meadow floors

and in the roots
of ancient trees, that
sip no more than
they need to fill
their budding leaves

They emerge slowly,
from dormant slumber
stretching, like monarch
wings unfolding, giving
homage to the sun

And then they bloom,
in vibrant multicolored
celebration of the
renaissance declaring,
the arrival of a new day

And they give sustenance
to the twigs and branches
and the trunks, whose
toes reach deep into
the soil, and they
give themselves
to winter's spring

And they give themselves
to the fleeting wind

It's dust, mostly
the kind that burrows
deep into the creases
of his forehead
and hides inside
the crinkles
around his eyes

It's forever stuck
to the soles of his boots
and never rinses out
of his denims
in the river,
not entirely

And it finds a way
to roll with beads
of sweat in dripping
lines exposing
parchment skin

but somehow never
penetrates the ring
around his head,
preserved forever
by his stetson's brim

And it's also ashes
from chaparral
and tumbleweeds,
lit up in circles
where he camped

leaving a trail
of where he's been,
like breadcrumbs
swept away in a
restless breeze

It's the creaking sound
of leather in his saddle
and the rhythmic
thud of horseshoes
pounding sunbaked ground

It's the wind in his face
that grits his teeth
and squints his
glassy eyes

It's standing in the stirrups
to fly above the racing plain,
keeping balance
with the whipping mane

It's the endless sky,
and the horizon
that never fades

But mostly,
it's the dust
that he holds
in upraised palms

slipping through
his fingers, disappearing
from his touch

in the wild and still
untamed range

He wore people
like tattoos
acquired over time
in both public
and private places

beginning with
the rub-on kind
that are cool and
breezy easy
until they rub off

and then the
colors of his crew
stuck deep into his
skin with toxic
overflow that spills
into his veins

His arms were filled
with symbolic power
that reigned on sleeveless
days but sought shelter'
in the blankets of cold
sleepless nights

and on his chest were
memories of loves
gained and lost
revealed only in
naked truthful
moments

some still pristine
others fading
but cherished
unlike the ravaged
scars of those
ripped or torn away

And on his back
were those unseen
and few they were
but fewer still
were those he knew
who still remained

invisible to him
but there where
everyone else
could see

So **** simple
and
So **** hard to see