Oh the places you will go,
in hopscotch, morse code paths
to destiny, to existence. Check
under each footprint and God
will hide between your toes.
This is no common symphony,
harmony, no triplet stanza to follow.
Tread softly let the whip of summer
pass through your veins, grab you up
by the waist and carry you away.
Never fly straight to never. Always
stop along the way. Here the poet
clears the brush and ventures through
valleys of shadows, through darkened hearts,
making glow worm trails will the souls of their feet.
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