I ask the earth
please, a little more time?
it spins on, spins on
*
finally dipping my toe
in the lap lane, already
I dream of the finish line
*
a bucket of anything
is best drunk a sip at a time—
even bliss
*
news from the heart—
it knows how to heal
its own holes
*
resolving to treat
all my concerns as poems—
now doubt, too, is beautiful
*
packing up the tent—
if only all habits could be folded,
bagged, stowed away