Cordon

Off the parameter of your Love for me

I am prone to habitual sights and sounds

That push pull me hither and thither

I can’t stand it anymore please take me

I prefer to be alone with small creatures

Who sing their songs and wait endlessly

I too will stare into the distant horizon

Will you take me to the White Shores

Off to places newly discovered

I listen to the shrill pitch of a small bird

There a post traumatic stress conversation

Turns suddenly silent and lonely again

How long will this slow exile form itself

I will find my way to the promise land

Via the path by the tree grove and river

I’ll sit and cry my grief until it is gone