Running from family

blood is thick,
stretching across time and distance
seldom drying, only changing color with the seasons
of ones life; sometimes one has to chip away at a narrow
section to allow the river of life to find a new bank,
for the grass to grow and the wolves to prowl
in the vicinity, for the deer to fade back into the
forest and for the new growth on the trees
to flourish, shading a nearby path
where we stop and rest our
bones.