lightness momentarily descends,
lifting me under the arms
with the crook of its elbows.

flat plane of the floor
through my shoes and the rocking
but not the weight of my skin,
my muscles, my organs, my breath.

cradle my bones
gently in thick, sturdy
rocking. the only sound
paper’s edge against
nodding arc, the oak chair.

implosion of ember
hope this gray morning,
dry grass golden and buoyant,
a delicate balance of young trees
in their winter silhouettes.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *