Where I'm Going

Separating Circles

All the paths where I'm going
look jagged, as if they erupted
from the twisted grass,
spraying sand grains.

So many tiny bits of grit,
the white cliff’s broken-off cells,
its roar reduced to beige
whispers over time.

I see the Offing, where the sea
comes closest to the sky,
partly from the Greek for
separating circles.

I grew my loops
around you, in the middle
of myself, I’d accommodated
you in my own being,
embedded you.

When you shoved me away
did you hear the echoes inside?
The rip of flesh, my wound
welling brine.

Life’s circular, I tell myself, circular
I must choose a path, just walk
forward and I will find
all that you took from me
and what I simply left behind.