February 5, 2012

orbiting

Too quiet for this world and its changing landscape.
A crooked candle burning.

My thoughts hang
too loose at the waist.
Too snug at the hips,
like ill-fitting black pants.

I can admit--how strange
these movements may seem

slothing along broken branches
piled on empty notebooks.

How does one explain
quiet bravery
of living

amidst all 

of

this?