My life is not this steeply sloping hour
in which you see me hurrying.
My life: the flower opening,
springtime spreading blossoms
as the winter wind hurls
negativities upon us all

My days are not the rush
the throb of things undone
the haze of endless lists,
maze of making resolutions
to conundrums yet to solve.

I am the rest between two notes,
with tones that clash in discord:
the fertile void, the Yin,
the Christ-the-Buddha in my soul,
Light so whole, I am at Peace

I rush in notes that
clash, chords that crash.

I am much more
I am the

into tasks, I find I’m poured;
is it fear to feel I’m bored?
or requisite of life on board
the phone, the text, the email hoard?

In a composition so divine,
I am not this steeply sloping hour
in which you find me hurrying –
I am the rest
the dance

By Donna Spring Gulick (with some borrowed lines from Rainer Maria Rilke)