Up at seven
I pull on my swimsuit and head out the door
ready to tackle the group.
Armed with advice and witticism
our conversation like the bright morning sun
mired in the tide pools
of rationale and comfort zones.
The old thread that ties us together
a crocheted blanket dragged from birth
pacifying our discontent
deflecting our resolve.
repeating the sequence each morning
unable to decipher the combination
digging up ancient history
unable to find
blocked from my view.
It occurs to me That I require an ideal To summit these peaks. Something more than a patch. My tenacity shouts above my perception Shooting ...