There are days when
I’m bored rigid by my singular story
I wear it like a prize or a prison

Who might this soul be if it had been sown in different soil?

I long to forsake my temperate fields for exotic climes
Of course I do
But how small a leap an opposite is –
the same story just niftily rebranded
A story of endless wants
Of not this but that
Not this feeling but that one
Not this father but that one
Not this lover but that one
Not this job but that one
Not this loss but –
No, not that one either

Perhaps there are days when this soul-seed carried by the elements

And watered with love
Can grow a host of stories
Stories of endless vows
Of this and this
Yes, this joy and this sorrow
Yes, this adventure and this homecoming
Yes, this freedom and this constraint
Yes, this loss -
and yes, this one too

A host of stories
Beyond compare
Beyond comparison