I am walking on the stones you set for me

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I am walking on the stones you set for me




I am getting my feet wet

at your behest, and I am cold and convex

and grateful, and scared of all that isn’t you.

And of you I am terrified.



I am old inside and growing young as wise

men will, as stems and blooms and leaves—

and thorns, all lovely

all pathetically tender.



I am a worker bee; my feathers are ruffled;

I want to slither away; I want to burrow down.

But I can choose, I can say

that all we are together is everything there is.

    Misty Moncur