That Open Place

I am losing my balance like I always do at the end of a long and tired year.
I stumble from the fatigue of it all and long for the hand extended
like a fulcrum to shoulder the path with another seeker.

I sit with a noose in my mind full of thoughts,
toxic tumbling might be over soon
if only this abundant heart
can send a richochet of a stone
into the barbaric battles
of endless garbled words.

My hands wrap a gentle chokehold around the neck of nothingness,
fingers are purple from the tight tension that are applied to the job
that must be done.

There is so much more to be done.
There is so much that is to be left undone.

I must walk with my hand on the wall of truth's home,
cool and sure of herself,
like the hum of the apiary in a June field of flowers.

Let me find the way to that open place of sweet enlightenment
with each step toward love's constant companionship.