PauseWith dan…


With dandelions dormant,
green saturating and dark,
Summer has accepted its own dying
even as the sun hotly yellows
and cicadas whine for rain.

There is an upright stillness,
a silent straining
in this un-bursted moment --
held by each flowerlet in the Queen-Anne’s-Lace,
recognized in the swelling breast of crow
as she doesn’t push the ground for sky.

It is good to be here in the dwindling place,
rooting without heaviness,
preparing without movement.

It is good to well without spilling,
to container in the waitinglessness
and thrum like river rocks do;

     the gushing
rushing them nowhere.

About jake.forrest

Poet. Songwriter. Etc. View all posts by jake.forrest

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