It wavers on my back.

Unsteady in its conviction of conquest,

as am I.

Soft earth padded into a path

we follow,

my rolling strides soothe it into

calm.

It is secure in believing 

it directs our journey.

It needs such kindness, this one.

You suffer!

Strike at me, desire mastery of me –

yet it is you who suffer.

How curious.  How confused you are.

 Control will not be possession.

Still, the struggle.