I am not ready to put my burden down
the wind blows through pines
I want to more than anything
sounding a seashell
I am tired with the weight on my body
clouds of yellow pine pollen drift
I feel my great grandmother’s despair
as if puffed from a smoker’s mouth
at being alive and so old that children die
it is high noon on the solstice at 5,000’
I have tried twice to ease my load
even the ducks sit in shade
my place in the world is taken
baby coots with translucent red beaks chirp for food
what remains will be a ward of the state
the house is planted on bedrock
undone and twice fifty-oned
it shimmies as one with the washer
my list of goals continues to expand
the floor stones tight as a drum head
I am beaten
underneath is the San Andreas fault
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