from BREATHING ROOM
No, not yet, move nothing until
you have filled yourself with
your act will freeze, immutable, and
your thought will have aborted
into misshapen stumbling.
We stammer in the effort to speak, lurch
out of a passion to walk, slump
in lieu of sitting;yet,
Within, awareness may reach toward
an attainable state in which
we seek to direct our selves
as a rider guides the most accomplished of
horses, crupper gathering, hooves
pattering, neck yearning toward
heaven, the supple trunk conveying
itself over the earth without
anticipation or effort.
This is the ascent into the self,
encountering possibility just as it
flowers into the actual.
We attain fulfilment only if we carry
the breath of the world
Photo (c) Martin Cornel. Excerpted from Breathing Room by Peter Davison. Copyrightę 2000 by Peter Davison. Excerpted by permission of Alfred A. Knopf, a division of
Random House LLC. All rights reserved. No part of this poem may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.