VOICE THAT FINDS ITS WAY

FOR MY YOUNG FRIENDS WHO ARE AFRAID
There is a country to cross you will
find in the corner of your eye, in
the quick slip of your foot - air far
down, a snap that might have caught.
And maybe for you, for me, a high, passing
voice that finds its way by being
afraid. That country is there, for us,
carried as it is crossed. What you fear
will not go away: it will take you into
yourself and bless you and keep you.
That's the world, and we all live there.
- William Stafford

Many thanks to Whiskey River for this poem.

("Self-Portrait with Imaginary Brothers" painted by am in gouache and watercolor just before the First Gulf War)