i’m elated. i am terrified. i hope for what i see, when i get there

it’s hard for me
to sit cross-legged.

i sit cross-legged
on a hard wooden floor.
my legs quiver,
taught in their bend.
the floor,
softened by a
small cushion
made of buckwheat.
earlier, i had
worried, “i have
nothing more
to say”.

a jackhammer
prods me
at my back.
it may as well be
a woodpecker.

i place a glass
of water at my
wooden side,
floored, and
make mental note
of its presence.
soon after,
i stand, crossing
the entirety of my space
in one step.
one step which
kicks the already-forgotten
glass. it splashes
some of its contents,
though it does not
the wood floor,
it has been
soaked in oil
in its now-silent past,
and this makes
for a beading.
not so much
spilled, this water,
as transferred.
from one vessel
to another.

a jackhammer prods
at me. it may
as well be
a woodpecker.

i sit with difficulty,
on a hard wooden floor,
a buckwheat cushion
offering no objections
in its support.
a book, nearly
finished, lies open
on the floor.
a glass, still
holding a few
inches of water,
on the floor.
i ask of myself,
“do not forget it”.
briefly, i feel

Published by Zak

an intertidal island in an ocean of impermanence.

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