Must I find fine words
to be of value on this earth?
Must I be of light-foot and nimble fingers
for you
to know my worth?
Is there no place
where idle hands and minds can wonder—
meandering
(aim-
less)
through a welter of positions and postures,
not
seeking
(in
vain)
to give reason
to so many mysteries
in such mundane madness,
not
being
closed to
multiple untold tales of mysterious magic.
Must I claim
too-known
in all
of this becoming,
simply,
to be of consequence in this here life?