Saturday, January 09, 2010

I’ve walked away
On many nights,
Quiet as a cloud,
Across the field,
And into the woods,
Beneath the moon
With shoes still wet
From the water’s edge,
And with words rising in my throat
Like the contents of a shaken bottle,
Ready to burst from my frame
If they could find no other escape
Than the feeble door of my lips.

In the liberty of solitude
I have often said things
I would not have said
Where ears could catch them.

Oh, the words I have loosed
And the things I have confessed
In the woods at night
With only God for an audience.

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