Stay The Course

As long as she rides her vortex
she'll be fine. Her vortex looks hardened
along the way by chance encounters,

but as long as she stays saddled
in the dimple of her own seat
it doesn't matter that she's half-naked,

perplexed, draped in dated chiffon,
ignoring each three-handed stranger
imposing upon her time.

As long as she straddles her space,
she won't mind the loss of odd folios,
blushing thoughts she leaves behind.

But if she loses her balance—
takes a tumble from her calcified
creation into the ghost stream,
she'll forget everything

along with the rest of the drifters.
She'll forget running fingers through
the wind, splaying toes

along the labyrinth, refusing
to acknowledge each younger, less
developed trajectory along the way

vying for her attention,
challenging her, inviting her
to dismount, discover, dissolve.