A Sitting Poem

Give me this moment.

So I can drive/sail away,

whatever away. I want/need to.

To freedom and wind, to sky and rain,

I don't mind writing. Screaming or crying.

To friends and tellers, to hope and such, I do too.

Outside, birds are singing. Outside, trees are growing.

They wave in the air like long lost grandmothers to returning children.

There is no point in living if you live for yourself. There is no point in living if you live

for others; there is no point. Only life, unrolling its space between what's done and what's coming.