Our Volition Was In Not Turning*
Scraps of paper
lifted on a careless wind,
these are my verses tonight.
You came to me so –
the familiar face on the
peeling wheat-paste poster
blown across the square,
come alive at my feet,
deft motion of fate’s blind impulse.
This wind was not of our doing.
Our volition was in not turning,
in being that shape in the flow.
Take my hand, you said,
step with me into this landscape,
let us tumble like leaves, let us curl
like tendrilled smoke.
It is the same with this poem –
it found me on a windy night,
and when I did not turn away,
that was the beginning of love.
*was published in February 2010 at www.voxpoetica.com