WHY SITTING MATTERS

 

The chance to let the world go on ahead,

at least catch up and show me what I’ve passed.

Bigger windows frame the outside for me

Broad stool supports my wanton stillness.

 

Blood flows slow like honey, bottom of jar

stored on October morning's outer sill.

I brush away the laggard flies, not yet

knowing the cold. Like writing verse unplanned.

 

The speed with which I watch demands I wait.

Play patience that I never miss a trick:

Immense sky whispering its blue and single bird;

still trees that want the wind to blow and scratch

their itchy limbs and then be still and know

someone is watching, waiting for the moment

earth splits, sky curls, ocean appears inland.

All that unseen if I’m astir, eyes on the road ahead.

All that unreal if I’m amove, one foot before the other.

 

©Timothy Wright

11/24/2014