Slow steps

Breaking out of the everyday ennui

Notes from Aug 2022

Sun, thaw the icicles
forming around my wrists
Let my urge to make and speak,
devour this fatigue,

I fear my words will remain tied
to my uvula, swelling like
wood in a summer storm
cracking after the last downpour,

my words like seeds
bursting open from within,
directionless, looking for spaces
to grow into, birds to hang onto
rivers to fall into.

I look at the stream I’m studying,
silted up in thoughts of yesterday
I can hear their ebbing as they sink
and are lost to me.