I gather seeds

New week, new month, nothing new under the sun; summer is back.

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I gather seeds and twigs and stones.
I gather leaves and flowers and bones.
I gather air inside my lungs, can’t hold it
for long. Deflated, I stare at the bookshelf
crammed to the top with my hoardings;
dreams and desires and hopes, so many
wants inside walls made of concrete.
I can’t keep up like this, not for long.
I take a deep breath and let it out
—let this spinning rock be an altar
    let me be an offering to the world—
wanting nothing, wanting it all.
	

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