I want to dance
though my feet have no special steps.
I want to shout
though I have nothing distinguished to say
only a desire to be heard.
I can taste the grape exalted
to its supreme perfection
dry and with a hint of oak.
It is the water passing swiftly in the narrow stream that
travels so far with so little, and
I look inward and see in myself a raindrop that wishes
beyond all hope to travel half as far in my quest. Sometimes
the desire is far greater than purpose.
I wonder is something missing?
Is this why no one is listening?
I build a fire out of doubts and questions and douse it with
the enthusiasm that seems misplaced. I have no need for it.
At least I will be warm.