In the wicker chest:
socks for two,
underwear that switches sides,
tee shirts that migrate
whenever it is wise.
Each day a new combination,
some too heavy,
for this lighter time.
We cannot ask for every choice
to boldly amble and rhyme.
As I contemplate a needed change
from the darker drug I've known so long
fought to a draw at mania’s edge
but is that edge the source of song?
May it be more benign—
a light entree on which to dine,
fit for an adaptation
to tart the story I must mine.
A beneficial lightness,
alone, no need of sign,
without communion’s
vanity of wine.
Let lightness come within each day
find soft as soft as it may.
Lighten the yard into quiet,
lay the hen’s eggs
for a suitable diet.
Pry willing words loose
so that they might fly
seek a serendipity
aloft in a sigh.
Let lightness be weighted
held softly aside.
It’s a heavy assumption
with no need of a guide.
