Diana Darby ** "I V" ** Intravenous

Wild Plums

Stillness is a song,
an idiot mind,
an egret in Florida standing at sunrise.
I find all the rest,
the rumba of war,
the plea of the sparrow,
the jagged milkweed,
just that,
a silent and snowy line
for me to cross.
Where is my mountain?
That which keeps me grounded
in imperfection and ghosts?
Has it run away like some lost dog
never to return?
I bury myself in the promise of poetry,
clinging to it like some gambler
holding out for one more roll,
one more ace.
When it doesn’t come
will I have nothing but despair to line my pockets?
For now,
I gather the wild plums
of tomorrow
with childlike abandon
certain
I can stave off
mediocrity
another day.