The rhythms of being human (poet, keeper, conversant, trainee) chafe; something deep seeks stasis
and I perpetually arrange, circling a selected centerpiece, certain that peace lies there.
Learning to dance, deep rest in each downbeat, will be a lifelong study for those of us who solicit steadiness but the sound
of a pair of pileated woodpeckers at work
mends me,
tending the places
where edges strain, barely holding hands across widening gaps
through which the light is blinding, unfiltered