Coloring between the lines

We found a turtle on a log one day,
brought it back to our room.
Couldn't sleep that night
for the noise of the turtle
slowly circumnavigating,
bumping against the walls,
looking for the way out.

Something slow and ponderous in us
is drawn to the edges.
Some Higher Authority knows
and builds a fence along the way
so we won't fall off.
Who is it that longs to leap over the fence,
to color outside the lines...

and why?
Are we looking for escape?
Or just originality?
Do we expect to find enlightenment
out on the tipping point?
Or just a different perspective
on this liquid unity?

Surely we who seek alternative paths
can see that we are not alone...




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