I’ve read the advice of the sages,
about being present in the present,
accepting what is for what it is,
but it hasn’t stopped raining for three days
with three more days of rain forecast;
this, after a winter that has lasted into April.
I’ve got cabin fever
and there doesn’t seem to be enough Zen,
enough rhythmic breathing,
enough yoga or tai-chi in the world
to still my pacing room to room,
my constant glancing out the window
toward the garden, untilled,
where I envision myself on my knees,
my hands dropping seeds in tiny furrows,
then covering them with soil and prayer.