My Bastion has Fallen.

Perhaps,

When it finally moves

The sole of my foot shall land upon untread soil.

I am hesitant these days,

anchored and yet untethered.

Maybe it is my lack of a compass,

but I find it wearing to discern

which of my actions

are

fright

and which

are

anticipation.

Still,

I have yet to forget

my name,

even in this,

the unrelenting.

Oh,

that wonder might keep its grip on my soul.

Oh,

that my voice once more might rise

like the blossoms of spring

after the bitter cold.

My Bastion has fallen.

I shall not fall with it.