Up early,
aloft,
pre-caffeinated,
I do what I must
to put myself in places
of discomfort.

Why?

Do I long
to thread my way through
throngs of strangers
in recycled air,
heart beating too fast,
nerves flaying at the mere thought
of all that proximity?

Hell, no.

What do you do,
all you happy people,
but remind me of how alone
I really am?
How cut off
in my own skin
and awkward
and remote?

I don't feel this
at home
at my desk
by the same sunny window
with the same cup of coffee
at the same hour of each new day--

Such lengths
I go to,
trying to make time stop
and the world a little safer.

But the world,
for all my efforts,
remains dangerous
and wonderful,
horrifying
and exquisite,
a place where dreams are dashed on rocks
as easily as they are born out of thin air.

Besides, shit changes
every second,
whether you notice
or not.

So I board a plane
and walk into a new place
and thrust out my hand
and open my heart
over and over
again.

What choice do I have,
a soul alone,
split off from the source
and stuck in a tiny body
with an obnoxious brain?

You are my rocky path
and my salvation, both.

Here I come.

xxx
c