finally a freedom
from living under others, carrying houses like a snail.
away from hiding, hearing, hurting:
it’s great to be alone.
un.lonely, not unloved.
not unloveable, not I.
but on a road and on a trail.
happy trails, i’m hearing me.
i throw the un from the window as i roll on,
and lo!
there are those parts others cannot hear,
whispering the secrets i’ve always known,
to my upturned, eager ear.
littlestorms 