The sun is setting and I am driving west
I’ve written another poem that started like this
About being heartsick—in it the sun tilts
I’ve written another poem that started like this
About being heartsick—in it the sun tilts
back its throat and sets everything golden glowing
The sky fanning the fires aflame
This is about feeling guilty, ashamed
It would be mundane, that laundry list
Every year I get more humble and wish
I could hug my past selves and dull their teeth
Every year my sadness is less about me
Maybe that is wisdom—being selfish
And letting it be
Finding love wherever you find it
Over, again, seeking it out
Beauty hunting: watching the heron walk
through the muddy water slowly, watch him stalk
Then slice into the surface, catch a fish,
Walk away; he doesn’t feel selfish
Or guilty, his needs aren’t moral issues
He doesn’t fret
“Am I doing this right?”
He focuses on his toes in the silt
The movement of the fish
In front of him; he would say forgive yourself
Forgive yourself
Forgive yourself
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