Samsara

I’ve woken up in villages in Vietnam, trudged to work in my hometown, been in Bolivian missionary churches, roamed the streets homeless but for friends’ couches.

Diplomat, waiter, poet, pauper, king.

Dreamed in stone houses by creeks, woke up on blue-grey mattresses, hoping not to get fired.

So why the fits and starts? Why the two-mindedness? Why the fragmentation?

Maybe the cosmos itself is like this — and I am day and night.

But can’t I smooth the bumps? Why is there no compelling pull?

I miss my family. I miss my friends. I miss life.

Hopefully running will be the trimtab.