I climb, I backtrack. I float. I ramble my way home.
The end of life has its own nature, also worth our attention.
Of course! The path to heaven doesn't lie down in flat miles. It's in the imagination with which you perceive this world, and the gestures with which you honor it.
Listen--are you breathing just a little, and calling it a life?
And who will care, who will chide you if you wander away from wherever you are, to look for your soul?
There is a notion that creative people are absent-minded, reckless, heedless of social customs and obligations. It is, hopefully, true for they are in another world altogether.