Jazz Do Bops

Jazz do bops, and I don’t quite do bop, but I am steady amidst fear’s lessening hold.

I know who I am — not fully, but more than before. I must let go of all I hoped I’d be, and become alive again as me.

Leaves fall from an autumn tree, and it still stands strong as can be. I can sing again if I change my tune, and charge ahead with faithful swoon.

The past is a photograph to a scene, wiping the compass clean. Why feed nightmare’s ugly face, when joy awaits on new shore’s grace?

Just keep sailing and forget your blindness — discover fresh what lies ahead. Un poco más allá.