What manner of life leads
to living the best of it?
Where does the mind drift
when the waves pull it and
make it dance against rocks
and unexpected shores?
How do the hands grasp
and fiddle and smooth
the things that prick and burn
such eager fingertips?
When is the right time
for one foot, toes out, arms up
to hopscotch over God-knows-what
with freedom on the other side?
Who lifts the striving soul,
replanting soles upon the earth
and lifting eyes to the horizon,
feeding the heart its food?
What manner of life leads
to living the best of it?
a tilting of air 