Traveler Sits By the Well

Traveler's arms

have tenderly cradled

babies and lovers,

have nurtured life,

have comforted

and have set free,

holding close,

then letting go.

Life is

a long series

of releasing:

those one loves,

those one cannot keep.

Hopes and dreams

slowly fall away,

transmute into

something else:

this life,

the daily

small miracles

that surround us.

At the end

of this journey,

she will  say goodbye

even to this:

all that has been,

for good or ill,

all the heartbreak,

all the cackling laughter,

all the hard and satisfying work,

all the holding on,

the letting go,

the gains and losses,

farewell to

the forests

and the deep blue skies,

to the mountains

and the moon,

to sunrises and sunsets

beautiful enough

to break your heart.

All will be gone.

No, she

will be gone,

incomprehensibly,

no more turning

and turning.

But, till then,

Traveler

sits by the well

and drinks deeply.

She drinks

her fill.

This poem from 2011 seemed appropriate today, with the announcement in the Poetry Pantry that - also incomprehensibly - Mary and I are retiring from Poets United at the end of October. It is hard to believe, even for me. I will still be around, online,  linking and writing and visiting you all. But I also will be walking wild beaches, visiting all the places I love, here in this wonderland I live in. Joining protests. Saving trees. PLANTING trees. 

I am grateful for each and every friend who has come my way through poetry. You are the ones who know me best of all, because you have read the deepest parts of my heart. Travel happily, my friends. Love is the open door.