Peaches, Tents, and Dreams

It’s taken almost sixty years

but today as the wet grass

shines and the peaches soften

from the inside out, I stand with

nothing between me and life.

The dream I’ve carried like

a tent has come down.

It wasn’t a false dream, but a

plan I asked too much of. And

now it is complete. Not that I

arrived where I wanted or

achieved what I set out

to do. That is our illusion.

Come. Look. As the sun

evaporates rain into pure

growth, the dream, however

we personalize it, covers us

until we grow through it.

For the first time, I am

skinless in the air. No map

or design or secret goal. It feels

good and unpredictable. Good

and porous. Good as air

in the mouth of a turtle

shaking dirt from its eyes.