For a moment the air is almost still
and heat gathers in floating pools
My hands work with their usual vigor
But my mind pauses, just
Like a pointer sniffing the air for a change
for the scent of a new presence
I consider my environment
I notice the flavor of motivation turning upon my tongue
dissolving away like pink cotton
No one presses me to change integrally
No one pulls my hand to follow
I find the words of my old leaders
like old habits, they are forgotten
or they bleed together like cheap dyes
And I’m left to lead my scattered, stained self