Conditions

Nothing to be done except the saying Yes to

the definitions -- those handed to me and

those I make up for myself.

These defining patterns are the perimeters,

the map, the borders, the box, the area I

navigate, function, live. Some of it is

chosen, some not.

But this is home -- conscious and

unconscious.

These trees are my trees. These streets are

my streets. These people are my people.

The studio apartment in which I bathe and

cook and write and sleep; this man I love --

whom I have chosen and who chose me;

and the something bigger who chose us

both.