Diligence? Laziness? Both are needed, now and then.
Complacency of My Bones
Beneath the big oak
that shades the tool shed
where the mower sleeps
and wrenches hang
from nails like icicles,
I’ll listen for the tree’s heart,
just one thump, one deep thunk,
lay my hand on its rutted hide,
and, with the patience of the grass
that sprouts between its roots,
I’ll wait for its pulse to shatter
the complacency of my bones.