Swift to Sift

Rising anticipation, a bated breath,

hums the thrum of changes collecting

in the well of wishful dreaming.

Ankles twisting and knees bouncing,

toes upright with the hips rolled sideways,

impulse grips the cord of reaching.

More is not less if the arms are full,

empty is full of all that’s lacking.

Be still but not stagnant,

see, every day is a chrysalis

with the change being constant.

Reaping winds brings worry,

combing skies for answers;

rather to bury questions

and tread the growth for revelation

than sift the muck for a marvel.

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