To Know That It Is Possible

He was seventeen when he read Into the Wild.
And then I showed up.
I met him on that little bridge
That crosses the stream
Down where the park dips
And crosses over into the fairgrounds.
It was a crossroads,
A crossing over.
And I was the thing
That he had read about.
And he found it not 
Upon the Alaskan Tundra,
But standing on the edge 
Of his town,
Where the safety of his pristine 
Mid-western heritage
Met the wild and almost reckless hope
Of freedom.
And I was almost dead,
And barely born.
And I trembled
And fluttered like the leaves.
But still, I was a wild thing.
And the fancy swirls 
That adorned their covered porches
Couldn’t lure me.
And I left.
But the reality of what he saw remains.
It sinks deep into his dreams 
And calls him to the wild places,
He and others.
And perhaps you are next.
If so,
Come meet me there
On the little bridge 
At the edge of town.
I cannot promise I will stay,
But I don’t need to.
If it is freedom that you want,
Then all it takes 
Is to see one free 
To know that it is possible.