Stand still and
come what may, they tell me.
Perhaps then I will stand still,
with feet propped against
this little flock of earthen stones
and let the wind jig in my toes.
Here I will wither happily,
like the gathering ducks,
pooled and waiting.
I’ll whistle for the twisting
roots of soil
where hide promises of cradle and tomb.
I will vie for the sweeter attentions of
womb-sung songs with words,
cramped, waiting, unborn.
I think I’ll wait for their release
made for two
and let spring’s last push
seduce summer’s agenda.
The coughing day-brown hillside
to be more than I was,
but less quick to
be more than what could be.
Leave that to the rest of us, they tell me.
I think I’ll just wait here.
2 thoughts on “Stand still and come what may”
How is it possible to respond to your magic and deft sincerity?
Richelle Sent from my iPhone
Richelle, you’re kind to say. Thanks much.