Knocking on wood
brings extra luck
and wards off
bad fortune
and so it’s surely
the readheads
who have
the most luck
of all
with their constant
knocking
among the trees
in their sweet
and rapid tempo
I want to stick
my head
in the sand
and pretend
the world
isn’t there
Insulated
and quiet
with life muted
and worries gone
I can close my eyes
for just a moment
and everything
can be okay
Patience
is a virtue
that is not easy
when heart flutters
and skin tingles
nerves jangle
and every little
movement
of the world
makes it difficult
to sit still
and wait
as seconds tick by
far too slowly
Delicate
and fragile
vulnerability
creeps
to cover the
hard stone
that lies beneath
developing
little by little
into a fuzz of
crystals
that a mere
breath
can destroy
Winter’s
sparse needles
leave branches bare
as cold nips nose
and brings on tears
but as snow falls
beauty breathes
and in each
remaining needle
a promise lives
that spring is coming
and each passing day
will bring
new life
Frustration
turns to a desire
to say
fuck it
and walk away
but I look back
and pause
think again
reconsider
and realize
it’s not as bad
as it feels…
at least
not yet.