As for me
And as for
now
I am sitting
still.
And drawn between
being still-filled
And being
outwardly engaged
I am mindful
Of my human
being-ness;
A vessel in need
of fulfillment
And a want for
times of self-realization.
There is a flow
And there is
a tarry in these times
Glassy still
That rides
between such tides
Slack and Serene.
And as for
now
This is what
I know.
The wind is hustling and so
The red rocker deck chair pitches and yaws
And perhaps what was once (or is still to be)
A trace of you, or me
Pitches and sways there?
An atom or two of someone we knew
Slowed to encounter
This chair
This roadside attraction
A way-stop on a longer journey
Paused, resisted, and changed and then
Free again to move with such abandon
Free from being reigned in
Then locked
Bonded in some more solid body
Organic or inorganic.
Time will show such change
Both as loss and gain
And the blowing wind will offer an answer.
Pick one
They are the ripe fruit of our
times
Pick one
Peace, justice, compassion and
more
They are on this menu
Pick one
Eat it
Digest it
Not into fearful fat
But to engaged energy
Eat it
Then spit it out
And make it new
Better
So much better
You know how
You know you know...
And if not you
Then who?
It comes as no surprise,
Mallards do what they do.
“Ah, there’s ice on the water…
Let’s swim around it.”
I don’t mean to put words in their bills
Perhaps they had a pre-dawn meeting
And charted their destination
Set an agenda?
Something sends them this way
But likely not determined by their
“Executive function.”
No, something deeper drives them
A clock with no chime?
A compass with no needle?
A course with no plan?
Ducks swim
And humans wonder why.
The wind is scouring the steel -gray lake
Nature’s game of give-and-take,
The last of autumn’s sun soaked heat
It starts it ends and so’s complete,
Out of the chops the steam blows back
To the blue beyond on its own track,
This happens every day we know
But not so obviously a show,
Given free as if to prove
Of bigger things on constant move,
And so too a bit of me blows by
As I look on, cold too but dry.
Love today
Regret tomorrow.
Discretion is so devious
Fear fed
It steals
For survival’s sake
From what is
On behalf of what might be.
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