crossing crossroad street

“And on the eighth day, God created the blues.”

I wake with the sense I missed

the crossroads. The intersection

of the four directions, the five elements,

fate and destiny.  Time and eternity being

weighed and divided, given to me.

That the sacrament of reading wonders

and signs denied.  That the one who could

have said, “Forever” and made it reality

behind, beyond me, gone.  And that my 

life has been in pursuit of hearing, “I’ll

meet you at the crossroads” knowing 

the one it is and getting there and waiting

to see who comes.  Maybe today,

maybe tomorrow.  Maybe hope is enough 

to find my way, to say, “Here I am,” to hear, “I see.”

Hootism:  in the single blink of an eye, enough may be seen to last a lifetime.