at my bedside our lifeline with hands outstretched it's why I'm so terribly patient with you though I have no time for the chaos of your world stretching out of time patiently forgiving though maybe it's not patience when you're gone I see you hurt be the cause but 30 years on the family will gather around this table in the ground and feel the pleasure of the feeding and the lifting of the feathers it's true i have no vision cannot point to a place besides my heart but when you cast but when i cast you for the part i never asked you to protect me

This is a poem that I did not write and I will tell you who wrote it at the end.

Unless you can tell.

It's called Journey.

Above the mountains the geese turn into the light again, painting their black silhouettes on an open sky.

Sometimes everything has to be inscribed across the heavens so you can find the one line already written inside you.

Sometimes it takes a great sky to find that Sometimes with the bones of the black sticks left when the fire has gone out, someone has written something new in the ashes of your life.

It's a