CUTTING LOOSE


William Stafford



Sometimes from sorrow, for no reason,

you sing. For no reason, you accept

the way of being lost, cutting loose from all else and electing a world where you go

where you want to.



Arbitrary, sound comes, a reminder

that a steady center is holding

all else. If you listen, that sound will tell where it is, and you can slide your way past trouble.



Certain twisted monsters

always bar the path—but that’s when you get going best, glad to be lost, learning how real it is

here on the earth, again and again.