I am out of time,
sinking back,
blood boiling,
the lapse
expands in my mind
taking proportions
that it does not
deserve.
I face my panic,
my mounting
anger at the
injustice of
waiting
and I fill it
with the blueness
of generosity.
Compassion hardly
takes space.
It is easy and
malleable,
soft to the
touch and sweet
to the ear.
I fold myself
into a spiraled
conch shell
and wash all my noise
with the roar
of the ocean.
(Sept. 25, 2009)
No comments:
Post a Comment