You problem solve by grabbing
a black portmanteau
and a fedora weathered
by sand and sun,
coming back to me
air-mailed or sea-driven
after loneliness forces
false contrition.
But today, I trail across a globe
with five fingers of possibility
powered by anger, but more:
an intrinsic love of self.
I refuse any longer
to be your anchor.
RED GLADIOLA 