Habit

I have always collected friends
like old habits, kept close and cured
with kindness.
Like most ailments in the world.

You hold on to tattered novels, lines
read and reread in hopes of finding new mornings,
a sunrise in which to bask, in body or imagination.
How many were the same I took breath from,
held close, made a part of me.

There is a yet bridled adventure in your eyes, a wild
to be unleashed, perhaps in the Appalachia.
Conquer the hills, and taste
what it is, to be you.