There’s nothing worse than the feeling of being confined in body, soul and spirit. But this is exactly what the world has been through since early 2020. A restless soul pines for the good old days of free-wheeling travel in this poem that is part outpouring, part remembrance and part prayer.
A summer wind blows;
forests and valleys are blooming.
Beyond the shore
the rumpled sea shimmers
under a sky where the free birds fly.
Where does one go
when there is no place to go,
when your world is the size of a pimple
on the face of the earth?
Still the heart yearns,
and the mind turns,
seeking that dream of going
to where the spirit is free.
With two fingers I crossed continents
with my eyes I sailed the seven seas
With a heavy heart I say this prayer,
that the terrors to come
will not see the first light of spring.