V. H. King's Ink

I have nothing to say

for myself. it makes me 

anxious–the idea of maintaining 

presence when my life signs

retreat into the soil.

>

ancestral heritage receives me

with open arms; a root system

soothing my weary being. the world

mistakes this as hermitage. if ever

I should be out of season, what reason

or wisdom do I bring with my silence?

>

to remain engaged at all

hours; to define and adhere

to a schedule; to manufacture 

expressions of passion in my

deepest weakness…

>

if I did all that, little would be 

left of me to flourish, when my time 

comes. I will wait for the call, protecting

my strength as I prepare to rise.