Made to wait, to stay, to patiently, slowly go, careful not to walk out of fast-stepping shoes, heel stuck in a sidewalk. Learned to wait and see who went where and why they would, then, step in with them. Learning to step aside for another and stay where stood, give seat to others, no tantrum-pinched toes: that small a gift, standing, we suppose. Learned to carry heavy stacks and heavier bags of words, carry them for the waiting time, when reading would be life. And possibly open another way for waders in rivers waiting rising fish, flies cast sleeping. Now, leaden, conditioned to shape something heavy, not even shapely, not lithe for motion. And—God's firmament!—partially formed, as caught in a graph, days coming, conditioned for grafting, awareness cut away, being dropped for the burn pile, after sweet time of papers, written, written complete and, (thrilling were) some, crumpled for tossing, their efforts laughable!
And we did laugh! In the dark, at night. When we would not remember, for the sun. Waiting every day for more air to pump blood to the necessary organs existing. Waiting every day for the better ideas to burn the feet standing, the feet put up heart-high, waiting for new conditions changing slow.
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