I rode to the cemetery,
this Sunday morning.
I chained my bike to
the last log of the labyrinth.
I danced softly in the
center.

I walked up that hill,
while cars passed for
a burial service.
I wondered if I was rude,
not dressed like everyone
else, dressed in black.
I was afraid they could
tell, that I was looking
for names.

I hated feeling watched.
Even earlier when
I sat at the bar
of a diner for breakfast.

I kept to myself,
smiled to strangers,
so they knew that I
was friendly.

Could they tell that
I was hurting?
Could they sense
my quench of
thirst?

As I look too see,
and raise my head,
the corn rows are
to the right.

To the left,
a distant barn pillar.

The last time I felt
this way was six months
ago, or so.

In the month of April,
the Spring breeze
was there the ease my head.
I slept in the sunshine at
the top of the graveyard hill.
There next to me, a gentle,
wandering soul.

As I look to my right again,
barbed-wires keep
me from the corn.

This bench that I rest my body on,
engraved where my langley-legs
drape the edge,
"KEEP SEARCHING FOR A HEART OF GOLD."
In a handwriting that was too
familiar.

This shoots my compass magnet
North, South, East, and West.
19 years later, an Autumn
Breeze sways my way.

Sometimes the sun sets
when I am restless.
Other times, I will not rest
until the sun rises.

When I saw the name Ripley,
to the right was Bliss.
Behind the bush of pink flowers,
a rose bush I could only hope,
I did see the name Shannon.

I saw Melvin near Cahill.
I saw Hutchins, Tobin, and
Soloman.
I saw Thomas, Owen, Jones,
Donahue, and Roberts.

I searched for the names
that called to me.
They thanked me, they
apologized, and I did
likewise.

I searched for a name
like mine, and then
fell in love with the name I
was given.

As the burial service continued,
I followed the bits of grass-path
and gravel road, back towards
the labyrinth.

I am fire,
here to shine,
here to give warmth
to those who need it.
And one day, I too,
shall burn to ashes.

If they must, they might
try to simmer the flame.

Colorado forest fires
are a natural way to give
the Rockies a chance
to resurface.

And yes, my eyes have traveled
from stars to soil,
and now my eyes are set towards the
Himalayan, East.