moving

moving feels all together like falling in love.
i leave this town with little more
than the stress of cold water
lapping at my feet.
i spent my autumn looking back,
at the lady shining in the river,
welcoming us to come in,
or telling us to go back.
i look back beyond her,
and strain my eyes to see if i can
see the highlands in the distance,
and know what it means to
walk home.

that was all apart of my youth, and i am not young anymore.

moving feels like a last chance at love
before disappointment seeps in
to where hope lived
in fantasies and magic dust.
i will change course,
about face from east to west
into another ocean
whose waves are stronger
and full of allure that crashes over
my best posture.
i will bow under it,
aware of all its grace.