The Will (draft)
Between the thickets of grass, I sit in my testing chair,
pausing in conversation to relieve my words
from desire - it is the stillness
in me that watches the wind.
My speech wants to move,
clinging to the hand -
when will I walk out
my thoughts with silence?
I had dreamt that going home would be quiet,
hearing the empty steps
of my ambition on a clear road.
The fixtures of the sky told me
to look down to where I stand
and throw my questions to a still wind,
that the stems of grass would not stir.