Urgency

I want to write.
I want to know what happens next,
but that’s not how any of this works.

Creation peels itself
one onion layer at a time.
Leaves fall from olive trees
when they’re ready
to unwind.

So I nurture,
I water,
I feed,
I order,
I clean.
Satisfy needs.
I don’t have to do this alone.
Creation is contagious,
struggle for the solitary soul.

Take a breath.
Let the moment express.
Slowly reveal itself.
Melt artificial distress.
My insides are still quite a mess,
but time can heal,
as long as I use this time to rest.