And let there be rain,
though the path is easier
when dry, and let there be
a bend in the road.
Let us think we know
where we are going—
and let us be wrong.
There are wings in us
we’ve forgotten.
Let us walk until
we remember them.
And then, let us walk
for the joy of walking.
Because puddles.
Because the path.
Everything I feel, you know how to say.
What a wonderful thing to say … maybe the best compliment of all time for a poet. Thank you for reading the poems, for meeting them from the inside.