Quiver

Quiver January 3, 2011

In the early light, complete stillness.

In the snow, two remaining leaves. At

first I think their quiver is because of

a small wind, but watching dawn creep

toward us, I realize they are trembling

because of the light. Nothing else moves.

I watch long enough to remember that

it is bowing to the sun during our night

that brings day. I stop, put down my

growing list and all I work toward.

It isn’t yet day, but the ground, the

snow, the broken limbs are coming

alive though nothing moves. There

is a forest inside that has its seasons

where everything grows by bowing

to the light. Why don’t I practice this

bowing? Now it is day and things are

beginning to move, squirrels, cars, the

furnace is coughing, the coffee perking.

And I don’t know what it is we need:

to work toward or to bow and quiver.

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