Partnered once, with compassion –
believed in power of human touch,
dedicated self to caring, certain
I’d found my body of work
Time and circumstance intervened;
I drifted, lost in an eddy of confusion,
marital fray ending in separation –
Life moves in circular cycles, and
I revisit that work now, wonder if
parts are salvageable, viable –
fragments outdated, irrelevant –
compassion still holds merit,
what if I let it drive, put ego
in the passenger seat –
would she steer us down one-way
streets, against the flow to traffic,
rattle elusive confidence –
without trust in process, I lack
assurance of youth’s glory –
would not survive the scramble
Circular lines bypass, spiral;
we are not meant to go back;
must breathe and stop grasping.
(Lost Directions first appeared here in October 2017. I have edited it and resubmit for my weekly challenge: compassion.)