Be patient,
and write long. As long as the strokes of your
eye lashes pulse the fingers to keys, then
both of us remain alive. Be patient.
Your dreams have no anchors; let them float light.
Let the throat grow easy and jaw relax.
Open and close the hinges of your mouth
and feel the knobs of your shoulders merge with
the elbows. There is time for us yet.

Cross your legs; they’ll unfold when they grow numb.
There’s nothing essential in self-torture
and still nothing productive in self-hate.
If a million came before you, and a
million will come after, then you, my friend
are a fulcrum. Balance both sides and let
them grow heavy; for you’re a root system
world of glory-marked knee bones. Be patient.
But don’t wait.


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