It was

not required that we sleep in the beds 
provided. Except how does one politely 
decline what could turn into  a trap one day? 
In the moment of need, all lack is brutal. Those
who fly away without looking back are as gods 
to those who must measure every inch on the trail, 
calculating speed vs. obstacle vs. equipment and 
grit, plus this thing called the unseen. All of us have 
some talent.  Even the wasp, hell-bent on feeding 
its desire among the vines of honeysuckle.  What I
am constantly afraid of: to give in to one thing 
will take all the reserves out of my pocket. But 
I want what you want. Not the impossible, only
enough. Here, not in paradise or the afterlife.