Potluck Passion

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I started this poem a while ago, but it feels unfinished.  Any thoughts from others would be appreciated!

Yesterday, I was me again–

Gazing up in to the sky

blue eyes wide with wonder,

not afraid of the future, or the past.

Content in the moment.

I was me again.  Enjoying

playful banter with a friend,

tingling touches with a lover,

comfortable silences–no explanation

needed.  No demands.

I was me again, back in the woods

of my childhood, with no concern

of which path or turn, just knowing.

Knowing I could stop and watch

the fish swim, or rest my head against

my favorite tree…

Did I tell you I believe trees are human?

Today, though, I’m not so sure

what I believe.  Every turn is the wrong one,

and I’m lost, and afraid.  Afraid of the growing pile

of unread books stacked neatly like firewood,

my brain the frozen fingers too numb to grasp

enough kindling to fuel the fire that is my soul.