I read this morning,
a simple sentence,
not nearly so devious
as my drifting mind created.
Who – or what – could, would
wander me? The printed text
spoke only of a straying mind.
Oh, mine has done that
all these years —
I could fly, was a princess,
lived in turtle shells.
I’m no longer willing for mere thought
to gambol! I would be vagabond,
a voyager, traipsing to hither,
roving to yon. I would saunter toward fear,
vault out of comfort zones,
leapfrog toward ecstasy.