September 21, 2020

Equinox

Here, now, poised between
intractable poles,

I stretch out my arms,
and they are drawn,

pulled by the magnetism

of extremes, balanced 

a moment, and lifted into 

embrace of the world 
that centers me here, now.

 September 8, 2020

My Terms

Every idle word is a small asphyxiation,
each syllable a stolen bit of life, an
     unnecessary expenditure of breath,
a waste of vital force, a micro-heist.

Stop. Just stop. Stop talking.
I can't breathe.

You can't be here. You need to take
a vow of silence – or I do. But since
     neither of us can pull that off
right now, albeit for different reasons,

you are not welcome here. Come back 
when you have learned the value of your 
     breath, and mine, when you can 
go about for days at a stretch without

uttering a single jot or tittle. Only then
might we begin to commune – maybe – 
     and only so long as you honor the
resonant silence I need to survive.

 What I Mean When I Say I'm Tired

Done. Cooked, like Christmas turkey.
Ready to be carved, plated, served with
gravy. There's a good deal of life left 
in me, in other words: 

   sliced leftovers for cold sandwiches, 
   chunks fit for a hearty noodle stew, 
   and bones – all my many bones – 
   still brimming with marrow and 
   capable of yielding up gelatinous
   surprises when cooled after simmering 
   in the stock pot for hours in the company
   of a halved onion, two celery stalks,
   and a few whole carrots.

In short, I have quite a bit left to give – 
many bits, in fact, juicy and nutritious.
But some judicious someone else will 
have to draw them out, preserve and
apportion them for the needy, 'cause 
I'm done.

 September 2, 2020

Anticipation

Something about Today feels Big.

I cannot tell, from the Outset,

whether it is Big-Good or Big-Bad,

or Both,

or Neither.

But it's Something. Some Thing

has shifted, maybe in me or 

under my feet. I slogged up this 

Hill – I can't quite remember 

now Why – and squeezed into 

a Crack

in this lichen-skinned

Boulder, my back arched

Backward to Pass Through, an 

inside-out Prayer pose, chin Lifted,

eyes Arrowed toward the 

Light at the Other End, although

it's not like I had a Choice as to 

that; once in the Corridor, I could

not turn my Head 'Round. I would

have had to back out Blind if I could

not make the

Passage.

Fog met me on This Side – the Bright

Kind, when you know Sun will 

Burn Through the suspended Water

in no Time, but until then you

Manage, taking small steps in this

land-loving Cloud, waiting, 

Waiting . . . .