three day weekend

a Zen hick from lands of simple pursuits
came by to revisit the other day
he brought luggage packed tight with the traumas of dramas
he crammed all he could between the gator and the carpet
the leather and the plastic
he leveraged all his might to snap the latch
fearing the springing and unwanted unleashing
they were heavy duffles he had slung over each shoulder
but they were tucked away
portable-like
disposable-like
and freedom was

so this Zen hick from wooded isolation
from mountain deranges unmapped uncharted
sat before me staring back into eyes drenched
with the glaze of the twisted unreal
looking deep past mud and alabaster dressings
searching for the beginning of nothingness
searching for truth
and after a while
time not contextual
he smiled and then a nod of forgiveness
and handed me the luggage
"I believe these belong to you"