Not hallowed but hollowed: May 2 almost 3rd Poem

Strange how the longing returns
When its haphazard footprint
last pointed away, focus distant
over my right shoulder somewhere
off, off – there and there and never
quite here and that got comfortable

So when the longing returned
It caused a stumbling, a poking
at the question itself – -

I recline into Rumi’s words
I seem restless, but I am deeply at ease.
My breath deepens, my finger taps
Branches tremble, the roots are still.
My eyes know not where to focus
I am a universe in a handful of dirt.

I am a spoonful of saltless water
whole when totally demolished. Talk
if I allow it, my chest aches, hollowed
about choices does not apply to me
not hallowed, but hollowed: scooped out

While intelligence considers options,
I get lost in the multiple choice want white or
black or a simple blue gingham.
I look up and around and realize
I am somewhere lost in the wind.

See more progress on: write a (sloppy, half-formed if need be) poem every day (or so) during May 2010