Travel Plans

There is an island

in Lake Superior

inhabited by wolves, and

as with all things that lie northward from

wherever I am

it is calling me through an ancient boundedness

to journey there. With last leg

a float plane, over the chilly chop to

sandy portage, there

would not be one stuttering hesitation and

no one else’s fears would cause me to have my own.

Being free

of the cruel construances of culture,

and those I have harbored, for

knowing

some seven days hence

at trails end,

having listened to songs

held tender in boughs of spruce and birch,

lingering misty on morning waters, ringing

in the rocks,

I will have lived

an entire lifetime

in Silence…

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