Struggling to make myself heard
trying to hear myself think.
Listening for the rhythm
and the cadence of my thoughts,
I drift beneath the surface
of my days and ways.
Northward, ever northward
to the silent, silent taiga,
snow covered wooded silence.
Then eastward I drift seeking
my center in the swells
of the rolling ocean’s
ceaselessness.
Westward now drifting
the endless prairie sky.
Finally south to this
moraine laced land
drifting and dosing
in my chair
seeking a place
to hear myself think