I want to travel between

the here and there

the when and the how

the if and the now.

I want to move between

where I am and where I want to be.

Grounded or precarious,

suspended.

 

I want to shed

my preconceptions of

how this is supposed to be.

I’ll toss my mapbooks out the window.

they are out of date, irrelevant.

 

 

I want to forget these familiar spaces

And embrace a blank itinerary.

Catch me between

the idea and the reality.

The practicality of a transitory life.

 

If I divest myself of all my possessions,

If I carry nothing but my actions

between here and when, there and if,

How am I supposed to fit these ideas into a suitcase?

 

I won’t plan anything

I won’t book or reserve or place a hold

on anything.

I want to move between

where I am and where I want to be.

 

 

 

 

 

I want to walk down

the steep backyard steps

and find myself alone

In the wide, open unknown.

Far away from where I came from,

an unpredictable opposite place.

Unhinged, unlocked, unshackled

 

Where there is no right direction

 

I want to create new meaning,

To create a new existence,

debate and renew my attachment

To the things I’ve carried with me for so long

 

I want to free myself from definitions

and the memories that pull me backwards.

I will walk out from under the magpies’ trees

and run.

 

 

 Run.

 

 

I want to wander

into an afternoon,

timeless and weightless

with possibility.

Pushing further and further

beyond my expectations.

I want to be released

from the comfort of familiarity

And cast into the wide open unknown

Where I land

Beyond my understanding

One by one

memories are poured over each other

Blended together

across time and distance

the here and there

the then and now

are no longer elsewhere but

realised as possibilities to guide the way forward

 

 

But always,

when I travel I’ll keep,

in my back pocket,

the words you sent to me

from the other side of the country

where I’ve imagined you over and

over again at a dark wooden table

words are wisps

released into the void

to be teased apart and forced together

clutching a pencil, shaping your letters

into perfect symmetry.

to create new meaning

 

Symmetry is over-rated.

 

 

I want to find you waiting,

awake in the middle of the night.

On the edge of something.

Each of us eager

to bridge the gap

between expectation and anticipation,

certainty and imagination

Ready to cut a new path

Open to the possibility

Afforded by my instability

In this place that is not home

Not yet home

Not, not home yet

 

 

We’ll meet in the middle

touching hands across the skies

to bridge the gap

 

In the same moment,

we realise

we are not at home.

 

And this is only the beginning.