a small ship with a “P” on its prow turns and sails away. It moves quickly. Things are being thrown overboard. It moves safely by rocks. the waters get choppy. the ship encounters some unseen resistance. It pushes. It can’t move. It turns and sits in an area of stagnation. I feel frustrated. Just sitting there . . . wide open vulnerability under a yellow sky in the hot sun.
then
Love fills my heart
and the ship’s sails billow
for the first time
a new direction: Toward
the P, no longer leading, dissolves from view
slower pace (my mind tries rushing but to no avail)
Love’s direction
Love’s purpose
Love’s timing


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