A day late, a dollar short
what if you show up for the world like that?
Dragging behind you all your many things,
the people you’ve collected,
all the time you’ve wasted,
the world at your feet
and you don’t even see it.
Running this way and that
still looking for more,
showing up but rarely slowing down,
you feel the silence like grit between your teeth,
spitting it out like tobacco.
That’s our grit in there, they say,
our grit that polishes you to a shiny stone
and you cast it away,
watch it form a pillar on the ground
while you carry on with your unpolished ways,
searching, always searching,
for what’s already there,
available for the taking