Break, Break, Break

Dishes -
laundry -
clean the cat pan -
I'm home.
Where is the dream thrust, some days? The swirl
in the air of imagined paths,
colors that transform the air to a palette for the lungs?
I cough.
I sneeze.
I brew tea and
stare at a journal page,
pen loose in my hand.

Who IS it I want to meet?
Where IS it I want to be?
What IS it I'm circling, inside,
guts rolling like a bad sea?

I need to go look in the mirror and SEE.
There has to be
something in my eyes right now,
an explanation, or
the right question to
lead me -- somewhere!
I'm too old to beg to be led astray -- aren't I?
Or is that the adventure I'm missing?

Strange brew,
hindsight and hunger.