yet have no destinations, dreams, roots.
I’m a writer who doesn’t write,
an artist who doesn’t paint,
a knitter who doesn’t have a project.
I run to the mail box every dayhope to find something…special.
The letter I’m waiting for--
I don’t know who will send it or what it will say,
I just wait and run to see if it is here yet.
The problem with seekers is that sometimesThey look forever for things they will never find.
With the wisdom of my decades surely
I would have found what I was looking for.
Next problem, does it exist and how do I find out.