Above the mountains

the geese turn into

the light again

painting their

black silhouettes

on an open sky.

Sometimes everything
has to be

enscribed across

the heavens

so you can find

the one line

already written

inside you.

Sometimes it takes

a great sky

to find that

first, bright

and indescribable

wedge of freedom

in your own heart.

Sometimes with

the bones of the black

sticks left when the fire

has gone out

someone has written

something new

in the ashes
of your life.

You are not leaving.
Even as the light
fades quickly now,

you are arriving.