FREEDOM-edited

FREEDOM

When did I last breathe true freedom?

was it long ago watching the Russian River?

or high above the Atlantic, storm clouds up ahead

lonely fishermen braving out to dark currents?

I never fished but watched closely years ago

as an old man threw his line out to black waters in a precise,

graceful, and beautiful way,

was that freedom? I didn’t know that then,

He asked me ‘Who are your people, what are they?’

I had no words, my people? had I forgotten?

I told him of my exile, I told him of wars and rumors of wars

he nodded and moved his fishing rod a bit left, a bit right,

‘Well, I suppose you need to discover a new language,

a new place in this life which is nothing like the calm out here

between sunlight, sky, and water’

He never smiled but I could sense his warmth for this fool of a lad,

“Maybe find yourself a girl, settle down, build a new life’

I told him it was too late for me, there was one dark haired lithe, petite dream,

but I did not know the language to her heart, I did not know the proper equations

and so it was too late now, but on a calm dark afternoon, with soft rain falling

I could still see her face and maybe that was enough, all I would ever hold,

A bit later his big fluffy dog came up to me

he did not need to learn the language of people

he simply cared for warmth and to give warmth,

he sat by me, watching his master’s ritual, the freedom of

waves getting closer, black boots disappearing from view,

I thought of words and books

things back home

Freedom bound by creditor’s bills

Freedom found in my diary for an hour or so on cold San Francisco mornings,

he invited me to walk home with him, to eat the fish he’d caught

drink a pint, remember poets gone, giving me a few hours of his freedom...