I’ve entered a middle place.

Nothing similar, all askew, between there and there–

Here.

From bone-sucking desert dryness

to an active atmospheric river in the West:

A massive dumping of snow approaches

and may freeze me in a fractured state.

And it’s good.

Being taken apart to be remade is soul medicine–

ever becoming means

relinquishing the familiar.

Seems this journey demands long nights’ jarring of a wagon ride,

heavy, unavoidable air of fuel burning,

relentless winds whipping rain in my face.

After an evening arrival,

a grumpiness of wants corroded my vision.

Once heat reached many sore muscles,

I could see the riches surrounding me.

And a first deep sleep in weeks

seeped into thirsty veins

with voices of owl

and a community of frogs singing

a long and generous lullaby.