untitled poem 3

It’s not laziness, there is effort
in remaining still
legs not locked but loose
arms rested but ready, unconsciously
shifting weight, absorbing shocks
like a sailor out to sea, or a commuter
jostled over steel rails
with a pulse steady as the beat
before a dancer springs from a pose
steps into motion as eyes
track the action, movements link moments
fractions of time forgotten in the grace
of limbs pushing against gravity
a gentle geometry no more complex
than the heart’s cadence
at rest, the rise of lungs,
or pupils dilating with the dark
as an afterimage flares from retinas
translates the inverted into the language
of our bodies, a cascade of nerve signals
unseen.

[Early draft – was captivated by the idea of stillness, or the inherent effort required to be still, both physically and mentally. Got sidetracked toward the end, but might be onto something interesting.]

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