by Steve Luttrell

It was always
about beginnings.
The first push
to what seemed
most insistent.
The impulse then
to act, to bring off
some occasion
of my own doing.

Because I was alone,
quite alone,
my thoughts became
the company I kept.
But something intervenes,
moves between the thoughts,
a questioning uneasy
in its movement.

And he is strong
who would
take unto himself
such doubt.
I am not that man
and if this is that or
that it matters in
some crazy way
it’s not for me to say.
I won’t, I can’t,
I am not that man.