The Back of My Mind (Poetry)

I am walking on the stones you set for me

I am getting my feet wet

at your behest, and I am cold and convex

and grateful, and scared of all that isn’t you.

And of you I am terrified.

I am old inside and growing young as wise

men will, as stems and blooms and leaves

and thorns—all lovely,

all pathetically tender.

I am a worker bee; my feathers are ruffled;

I want to slither away; I want to burrow down.

But I can choose, I can say

that all we are together is everything there is.