I’ve been lying low, stuck
in the ether of just enough discomfort
to discourage me from leaping up
and sprinting into the earthy arms of my garden.
Perched here on the sofa,
feeling a bit more my old self every day,
but alas a day closer
to becoming unglued.
This, my time to muse, unfettered
of the guilt my upbringing harps
whenever I just do nothing.
But, like my quiet agave,
expect something spectacular to emerge
just when I’ve tricked you into thinking
I am down for the count.
