Today's poem is by Jane O. Wayne

Toward Repose

              Liquid, solid.
Given a choice wouldn't it be
rain streaming down
a car window, morning mist
              gliding over streets and houses?
                            Lightning, too, or any
suddenness, a ballerina's leap,
a shooting star—the thrill
              of faster and faster.
All the longings—she hears them
clearly as that voice
she didn't follow
              years ago, still calling her
into the winding tunnel
of that cave.
              At times she reaches back
for wind in her face,
a park, the kite string tugging
                            in her hand again,
and that country road
in summer—green fields
and peach orchards, car windows
              wide open. But now
in winter, she moves
from page to page,
              lets the fire die down
in the living room, and gives
no argument. She knows
                            stasis will win
in the end—the spinning top
                            will topple, and she'll move
no farther than the rocking horse,
the room already
              cold as the cup she drained.

Copyright © 2017 Jane O. Wayne All rights reserved
from Cave Wall
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission

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