Sunday, April 14, 2013

Not The Ground

I'm learning that
if I sit very still and
reach out my hand
the truth will crawl into it
if am patient enough
that if the wind is just right
and I stay out here 
long enough
true things will twist in the air 
around my head
and if I listen hard enough
I can learn their language
as if it had been 
something I knew all along
so that I'm not learning it at all
but only remembering
and if I can translate
those moments 
when the truth blows in
if I can piece all the signs together
like a shaman
then I will understand that
it's not the ground that has
been shifting
but my very own magnetic poles
the top and the bottom 
of me
sliding into each other's places
until my entire landscape 
is unrecognizable

It is not the ground
but only my knees 
that shake
and only my teeth
that chatter
it is not the bottom 
that eventually falls out
but rather 
my sharp will
that pokes out a hole there
so that it can leak 
slowly, like syrup 
my own will
that tries so hard
to empty me