I
am my own tigle
of remembering
of remembering
that
once paved a path
over
stoney ground
where
shadow patches
wavered
across
the stillness.
I
sit in memory
supposed
to be me
that
could still define who I am.
The
telling of me.
I
am looking today to find
a
moment, passing
like
the life that dropped away
yesterday,
that will today
and
again tomorrow.
For
a million years I have watched
this
self
in
the way of surrender.
For
a million years I watch
in
the way of devotion.
I
am witness
memory
savior
life.
When
I lay this body down
through
this heart
I
cannot ask more of it
than
I am willing to give.
In the softness
of
curving thread
suspended
in
the alcove of that clay bank,
I see the purpose of design
encoded
in tiny creators.
The
shimmering droplet
nestled
on the outer weave,
dissolves
dissolves
like
I am today
because
of the power
in
something greater than it,
because
there is no identity
there is no identity
in
a single dewdrop.
Candali
Poetstory 2012
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