The Wanting Space (Revised)
The wanting space is mine now.
After years of curating it with meaning,
Losing it all, and starting over and over again,
I’ve come back to a seated position among its relics.
The restoration that once exploded in chaotic color
Now faded, has a devoted space on the walls.
Visitors stop to wonder at it
They feed upon its forms and blushing, fading tones
All around this wanting space, the rainbow dust has settled
But bodies of possibility erect within reach.
The earth has never spoken of such color
Where the sky is so intent and attuned
Miles of trekking above the timberline to stockpile a vision
Tuned me in to the fertile valley of the deep,
Seasoned the endurance of my heart space,
And led me to this blooming meadow
Where now I sit with what is wild and telling
and with what is still working its way to the surface.