Above the mountains
the geese turn into the light again

painting their black silhouettes
on an open sky.

Sometimes everything
has to be
enscribed across the heavens

so you can find
the one line
already written inside you.

Sometimes it takes
a great sky to find that

first, bright and indescribable
wedge of freedom
in your own heart.

Sometimes with
the bones of the black
sticks left when the fire
has gone out

someone has written
something new in the ashes
of your life.

You are not leaving
you are arriving.

David Whyte, The House of Belonging