Thickets
If I've
ever gotten wiser,
it's when
I've learned to
love the
thickets, and
forgotten
about the summits.
When I bushwhack my
arduous
way,
by loving the
bushwhacking,
even
coming to befriend
the
bloody scrape of thorn
upon my
skin.
And hesitate to leave those
scrapes
behind,
even
despite the old
familiar
tingle of freedom,
making
its deliberate way
into the
back door of my
bloodstream, foretelling
of
the
magnificent clearing
just
ahead.
Even then, I go for one
last
circle through the brambles,
let
thorns once more draw
the blood
that
wards
away hubris,
for good
measure,
for the
gods,
who
appreciate thoughtfulness.
And finally emerge,
half
pretending I haven't,
knowing
it is nothing,
though
loving,
with my
whole force,
everything
there revealed,
new and
old and all,
and
committing to it.
--Brian Burke
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