29 Years

Twenty-nine years it took,
to circle back and finish what I set in motion.
Try, try again — that’s the tune,
always searching for the right door,
always catching the dubious thoughts drifting in the hall.

First I thought it was art,
then I had to heal.
More uncertainty in the swan’s reflection,
more questions beneath the golden buckeye tree.

But here I stand, degree in hand,
the rhythm crossing into silence.
Time unfolding,
light returning —
bringing me back to where it all began.