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I once tromped right through palace rooms and temples like I deserved to be a statue
I walked right into the elders' council chambers and sounded like a young Scrub Jay
when the blisters started mounting on my spirit
when my smile cracked like thin lake ice
Everything changed

Freedom is a caustic acid bath
turns out
I get to do my own walking
but those traumas will sure stack up
until nobody's heart is clean enough
and I'm breaking up with a woman I love every part of
forced to heal alone
back to the desert wilderness with Moses and the Jews
back to the fishing boats with the gnarled brethren,
away from the women,
back to the beginning of the journey that never ends
burning in the sun, working the nets, working the chisel
back to the search, scanning the shore for the Lord
to atone for these wounds
these little suicides I committed
back when I thought I deserved things
like freedom or access to temples
those years of being so sure of my steps
before I had a bunion
and all this pain.