It’s a smoggy morning in Edmonton.
The guy on the Honda Silver Wing,
waiting for the light to change—
There’s a yellow-grey sky and the wind is already up.
It’s a Monday set on edge,
a ruined dog straining at a leash.
Back now from a road trip of one month and 10, 000 km.,
and the search for meaning starts again.
And yet, how beautiful to breath.
How delightful, good-religion.
How peculiar, politics.
How critical, poetry.
How imperative, a friend,
to keep away that old grinding hollowness,
that fear of irrelevancy,
To keep alive the urgency for peace,
the longing to love and become.
To let be, that stone too big for pulling.