Old Bones

Here, in this map of skin

With all it's earthly limbs

Lay rivers and roots unmoving 

In winter's cold

Frozen, old

Despite the seed planted in spring

For this

Tiny stem- a wonder

With strength enough to endure

Any wind or weather 

Morning

To wake, and not rush

To rise quiet and full of sleep

To enter into silent rooms,

Where the sun waits patient behind closed curtains 

Or rain--

The soft comfort of grey

It is here, that I sit

Sipping coffee

Slowly and with gratitude