When the wind blows from the west, bringing the salt lake's smell, and the clouds are low and heavy, and perhaps a gull passes overhead, hurrying to shelter in the relative warmth and calm before the rain begins,
There is an ocean nearby, just on the other side of the Planet Fitness, and the one horse town I never left is no longer hemmed in by the cost of living, the familial responsibility, or the sprawling succubus of modern Mormon culture,
And I think of the last scene of some required reading, where she walks out to sea and smiles when she realizes she has gone too far to make it back to shore, blind Paul Atreides gone into a coriolis storm,
Remember my own vain attempts to return to the wild
They were not skillful, sober, or quite unreturnable, and I will not repeat them, but I bow to the desperate last-ditch drive that I obeyed, diluted, impotent, sincere
Before returning to write self-pitying poetry and to forge more links for my heroic and ponderous chain
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