Freedom

Image by Joe from Pixabay

The fog chewed land sits
for the sea to lap its toes,
immerse in surf.
The sleepless trees walk out
straight & tall, a long file
cutting away at the horizon,
into water, their final act of freedom.
Walk up any path
& it walks right up to you,
stands near your mouth,
waiting for me to join, to gather
the palm leaves revealing your eyelids.
Everywhere is open except you.
Someone has placed a city on your head
& now you're buried neck deep
in dew drenched light. Like a monk,
you wait for me to figure out
what you mean, to unlock
the keyholes of my body
to your boundless fingers.
Do I even want?
Do I even need?
Do I even desire the opening
that stares at me through every face
waiting for me on the boat?
Maybe I'm not as real as I think.
Maybe you're imagining me as your body
beginning to re-enact the same historic panegyric,
that lyric of unchained bodies wandering
aimlessly like newly sworn in ghosts.