Reading Stitches
Books, Poetry, Things I Wish I Knew For Sure, and not all that much about Knitting

Jun 23, 2011


It's not as if
I read fortunes
Or understand the nature
Of being True.

Time is falling -
That's not my fault -
No space for big steps,
There's only enough room
For breathing.

Grasping at feathers,
Fathers and mothers,
Experience flies
In the face of Time.

I might turn to prayer
Or words to chant,
And talk to the trees and birds -
There are solutions there.

But they are busier than I,
And God is, too -
My hope is smothered
By an onslaught of sound.

And in my mouth
I hold only unformulated thoughts -
Some garbled mix of hidden wants
The desires of an unformed creature.

The birds seem True.
Nature is wild with Truth.
And I watch as if in the shadow of a cinema,
Holding onto my seat, afraid to miss out
On the telling part.

I move forward, or at least in place -
Stepping as if with new feet
Made of fresh and sticky clay
I will make the forward motions.

I refuse to march to the pace of Time,
And my rhythm shows this fault.
I fall out of step with what might be called
My fellow travelers.