Any. Way.

Any. Way.

Do not bother to stop and smell the roses.
It is not the stopping or the smelling
or the roses
any. way.

First, you think you’re stopping
but it’s restlessness and fidgiting ...
There’s a fly. Your stomach grumbles.
Leg cramps. Boredom. What time is it?
Oops ... sorry ... that’s sitting meditation.

And smelling? As if smelling will
capture the rose and bring it home.

What of the other six senses?
The sense of temperature,
of pressure, pain, position in space,
acceleration and the passage of time?

You might think this is just another rose
in just another poem but the usually shy
chrysanthemums are whispering with tulips.

I think I heard your name.
Listen.

...

DLWhite • 8/9/13