Edges of paths

somewhere on the edge
a precipice of undoing
built of memory and dreams,
challenges conspire in seconds
to tear into the minutes
of an expectant day.
The paths of most and least resistence
lay like stones beneath the will
to climb and traverse the promise
of an expectant beat that hums
like a solitary wind gathering
the buttermilk clouds heavy
we lift our soul to higher ground
escaping into the cosmos
to stare at the dreams in their eyes,
thread the needle to sew
a storybook of pleasure,
always waiting to be told.
Slip into the ether
inhaling the fragrant mist
of a future ripe
with sweet gifts in abundance
to open hands and a grateful heart.