1. A slice in space that marks our time is a desire path.

2. The aimless feet driving grass back to ground: desire path.

3. You can tell college dorms with the most inter-residential romances by their desire path.

4. The second to the right bathroom stall beckons loudest; don’t use it: desire path.

5. Feng shui calls divine the wind and water. Let it cut through and follow in your desire path.

6. A flotilla of kayaks sets straight out just to hug the lake's safe shore. Call it a weaving, call it a drunken wander--home to adventure, adventure to home—their desire path.

7. Willow trees trawl deep to the veins in riparian loam. Whatever we lack, we desire path.

8. When you are sure, no signpost can stop you. You’ll make your own mistakes on your desire path.

9. How winter smudges out what roads we paved with plans so we have just the ruts of memory to guide us. Snowdrift to snowdrift, our feet break the desire path.

10. How we find our own gorgeousness in the faces of our children. How no one human alone is alive: desire path.

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I'm writing this poem on the bank of Lake Tahoe. Weekends are perhaps better for poems than for essays. But the advice is practical: next time you're in a public bathroom, don't pick the most appealing random stall in the lineup, because other people are more likely to have picked it, too.

This is my 7th day of writing for #ship30for30. If you found it useful, retweet or DM me what so I know what to write more about.