The Myth I Am

We are happy to the degree we heed our instincts
and our dreams. We speak of truth and logic,
without believing what we see. I can see
the misty wake made by geese
passing overhead. I can
see them rising
from the
shores of
a distant
land. What
I imagine is real.
What is real I imagine,
then set free. Such is the myth
of man. Such is the myth I am: the wind
and rocks and trees, the ancient song of freedom.

October 27, 2006

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