through a football field in July
lumbering around the outside track
I remind myself that healing is not linear
somehow somewhere over there
a cosmic thread is weaving its way back
the monarch finds its home
witches still celebrate Beltane
bright ribbons whip with the wind
offerings are released
a bread and circus lay beyond the green carpet
somewhere over there she is still writing
coins were tossed wishes prayed garlands raised
before me a peacock feather points the way
I should tell you, I wasn’t really lost