I wander into open spaces

that hide aside the ravines of duty –

tasks done so to shore up the ragging holes,

frays where tenderness is lived

outright yet not without some roughness

inscribed into its terrain.

And inside these little gulleys

that lay strewn throughout and wedged between

my duties, I draw down near to the earth of them,

watch the traversing of the smallest

creatures, their passions acted out

on stages of mound and hillock,

and I become immersed in that theater, that language

spoken through countless scurries.

My thoughts, earth-deep, dig and burrow,

weave and web tunnels of wondering.

When I’m alone, I may curl into these

often eluding places –

such as the paths of ants,

delivering homage, great goods,

to an unseen ruler, but no less revered

than any great leader of nations.

When I’m alone, I feel deep

compassion for all of us, we who go about

the business of life (as we know it)

hurrying through our mounds, hastening

our pace whenever we can, hoping

to make ourselves more, striving,

dreaming of blessings – greater goods,

whether to gather or to give.

© Copyright 2009 Susan M. Botich