How to find it is my dilemma.
Where is it hiding, or am I hiding from it?
The power in me I feel swelling.
It is a dark purple wave at night,
rippling, rising, roiling,
scoffing at the ships who attempt to pass through me.
It is a tender-footed fawn,
nosing the edge of the wood,
and darting across the clearing
to reach again the forest where it is safe among the trees.
It is an old man laughing,
looking at his hands and wondering
about the mistakes and the beautiful things
they have made.
Do the waves, and the fawn, and the hands, tell a story?
No, but I do, and I will.
I will sink under the waves who scoff,
I will follow the fawn into the wood,
I will hold the man's hands in mine and kiss them
until he stops laughing.