with a word

I'm not exactly sure of all I've been needing lately, but I know I've needed more and more to worship. And on a bus ride back from Hua Hin weeks ago, I wrote the beginnings of this poem--barely an offering, but it's what I have at the moment.


LIFE

my edges are rough-groomed fern

rightward leaning palm

trees and coconut brush;

my edges are the contoured shapes

of a beer-belly man, island mass

shifted well along timed tectonics;

my edges are my own—infinite

in complexity; mirth; solitude; perfected by

seeming imperfections;

haphazard placements;

anomalous blinking live-wire fire

flies grouped as fanfare splays

of honest, unabashed prints: my own

with a word, life

whether right or left

Thanks, readers, for being patient while I go these days without posting much.

P.S. how does everyone feel about the use of "my" in the poem? anyone think it should be "your"?