sit in the dark. I sit in the dark. alone,
the dark blends into me until I am dark.
I am as quiet as silence and as dustless
as steel. This is nonsense, nonsense,
nonsense, this blending, this oneness, asking where
do I begin and universe ends? Am I in the dance?
am I this a question perhaps I want
to know am I? but the sparrow does not wonder
am i? He is thrumming with blood, so am,
more am than I will ever be. Sparrow, teach
me to build with string, teach me to live eternally
now. We say sparrows prepare for the winter: no.
humans prepare. sparrows act. sparrows weave. sparrows fall,
and die, yes. but they do not worry for dying, as we ought
not to do. they trouble only for living, trusting in the dying.
(I write first drafts of poems every day. Check it out.)