This Journey

If you let go of my hand-

I won't.

Blinking cursor beats three/four time
and I imagine the time
when I'll dance at your wedding
or you'll dance at mine.

Fan whirs and cools the brain
of this machine as I make
a lame attempt at recording
the words that can't be put to words.

Fingers pause over keys as I
let left fall over right,
remembering the first time
you reached out and took hold and we walked.

Past this line
and past the next
the story waits.
We'll laugh as it unfolds.

Such fortune to have
found a fellow traveler
eager for unknown
fortune.








©Michelle Scofield, July 16, 2010 All Rights Reserved