I have a sneaking suspicion
that I could be placed
somewhere on a spectrum.
Is my vacillation between light
and shadow
normal,
or pathological?
I wonder what it would be like
to mostly
rest gently.
But I am constant in my inconstancy.
I think I understand
better now, how it is that others
can find me exhausting;
God knows,
I exhaust myself.
I am sweatered up, wrapped in a robe, under a blanket,
tucked in the bed
deeply layered in complexity.
I am riding the spectrum between yes and no
expansion and contraction,
Between the push and the pull.
I am anything but static.
You, on the other hand,
are rock to my wind.
Solid. Immovable.
I suppose,
only the future will reveal
how much my wind will move you.
© Sabrina Santa Clara, 2012