There’s a bench where I sometimes sit

Maybe on the pretense of resting

But usually just because

Water flows and falls and founts nearby

Going up in a rush

Very close to tiny rugged falls

 

 

At this bench are also paths

One back to the world

Of cars and shoes

The others go into the woods

Or so I guess

Because at each path’s start

Is a bridge

Of timeless origin

And uncertain strength

 

 

I can only tell that these paths

Continue onward briefly

Then quickly dissolve into imagination

 

 

I’ve promised myself to let go

And begin the journey

Discovering what each path holds

But I’m never quite prepared

To meet I don’t know what

So I’ll sit on the bench

And hope the paths are cleared

Until I decide I’m okay

With getting lost

 

 

 

© Gayle Force Press 2017

 

 

• Poetry