i'm fairly certain
that when i sit perfectly still
on a rock
no one can see me.
i'm getting good at
becoming the rock,
staring daggers into the
trees and sky,
trying to figure out
what they are up to.
as far as i can tell,
trees don't feel bad
about stretching toward the sun;
they don't feel like assholes
reaching for what they need most.
they don't even move.
they make themselves home
and get stronger and stronger;
and even if they get knocked down
they are beautiful
little birds hopping,
critters scampering and
golden light stretching.
once i sat on a rock
and stared daggers into the creek.
huge pieces of ice would
suddenly break off
and join the rush of water,
always moving,
that crazy sun
a ball of gas in the sky
making the ice in the creek melt.
i really don't know what to do with myself
other than watch this
drama unfold;
sit still on rocks
and watch, and wait.
and i always leave in a
fit of fleeting glory;
where i temporarily,
for a tiny instant
see myself
as a thing of the earth
turning into something
magnificent and powerful...
and then it is gone.
and i think about
how silly my life is
how i try so hard
to give myself
an interesting story to write.