Perhaps I am more like the earthworm
than I thought—
one part of me anchored in place
while the rest of me moves forward.
Every time I go, I also stay.
Every time I reach ahead, part of me holds on.
Over and over, I pull myself along.
What looks like progress is slow.
No path except the one I make
by letting the world move through me.
In order to proceed, I make of myself a wave.
In order to proceed, I must let go.