you have studied much of this world,
both the great and the small,
(two choate universes–micro, macro)
seeking a safer path for our stalwart company  

much of an explorer’s work is done alone–
hunched over antiquated, creased maps–
searching for elusive signposts in a land
filled with danger and death  

with each morning, comes a new trek
through harsh brush and cold rains
heavy arms swing the machete,
which is in constant need of sharpening  

(once i spoke with a chess master
who told me the secret of winning the game
is not to look ahead; rather, it is
to tally the possibilities
our choices have taken away)  

there is talk of treasure,
enough for our bevy of anxious travelers,
somewhere down the trail–
we keep searching  

you have studied much of this world,
filled with possibility and expectation
you know the Great Truth:
this expedition is not about jewels
or gold or trophies for the wall
it is about the journey–     
       the journey is everything

rain dances off the brim of your hat,
your blade sings through the air,
first, one step, then, another