In Praise of Motion

You are discontented, lonely, and you cannot find the ground,
You keep a barren grievance that you cradle like a child,

In the past you were a dervish, spinning vigilant and wild,
You hurtled through the blackness, you marveled every sound,
A beautiful persistence, with your eyes so raw and round.
Now you toil for your wonder, and the world that once beguiled
You with sunrise, with precision, has grown indolent and mild,
And you suffer, that the earth exists to keep your spirit bound.

Home is a cathedral, and it glows behind your eyes,
You were born a simple pilgrim; you must beg before you know.
Beyond sorrow lies the rolling path that strips you from your past
And feeds your limbs like soil. Move; for motion will deny
Stagnation and revulsion and the clogging weight of snow,
And bear you into solace, where you spread your roots at last.

Sestina for the Present

In summer you are waiting for the fall,
While purring leaves spread outward to the sun,
And berries ripen, decadent from light,
You cannot determine sloth from rest.
You ride the wailing currents of regret,
And taste the salt that augurs your decline.

You are weary, for you fear the close decline
Of mothers, lovers, gaping as they fall.
Their lives stained in the rank pulp of regret
Like fruit turned slick and mealy in the sun.
You vow to blossom greater than the rest
You spread your precious tendrils to the light

And watch the others lose their air and light.
They choke on offerings that the blessed decline.
The image of their grief tears you from rest
For what new god will reap you if they fall?
You can merely take your guidance from the sun,
And nurture and with-hold without regret.

Sara McClayton is an educator and writer from Baltimore, Maryland. She enjoys spending time with her husband and dog, exploring nature, and practicing yoga. Her work can be seen or is upcoming in Unbroken Journal, Neologism Poetry Journal, Ink in Thirds, and Club Plum Literary Journal.