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life …
lived parenthetically -
impulses placed like black boots
in soft sand,
stumbling …
betting a fool’s hope that it leads …
SOMEwhere …
or garners a courtly chuckle
(if perhaps by accident)
my pas de bourée
to your sublime elegance and
perfect line …
you and yours, entire, have ever been in frame -
shoulders down, elbows up
work, play, love, life, achievement -
always the apex, the penultimate
the bright brick path laid out before you
(or placed as you went)
naught a detour or leg up
each meter earned with a
precious blood …
while I caught the brambles -
hacking away at life
with a machete of words and wishes …
all the while believing
that character required as much -
that struggle and chaos tempered the
steel of our sinews and spirit
when in reality
they only served themselves
and fed a monster that
devoured all I found worthwhile -
all I defined as good …
you …
were born to golden toe shoes
every point INTENDED
at the barre, or at the curtain
upon waxed wood, or midst the spindrift
for the masses, or for the gulls and I
orchestra …
or sounds of the sea
you dance on -
like coins of sunlight dance atop
the breaking swells …
our destinations are the same
no matter our start or our direction
we leave alone and without
thus …
it is the journey that defines us
whether the shining stair
or the weedy wood …
whether the demanding ballet
or the stumbling jester …
whether let with precision and poise
or a hesitant stagger …
every foot in front of the other
and every wayward path
its own precious …
adventure.
Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden | Year Posted 2023
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