I am weatherly and so
       

I am weatherly and so when I must fix myself in time, I choose
tethering tools that loosen at a tug, or ones made of water, wind,

something I can slip easily from—my ankles, bone-trim for easy exit
from slipknots, or mud-sunk shoes I can unlace in a pinch.

When I must speak, I choose words with the properties of air, words
so thin I could pass through them and come out the other side,

waterly reassembling myself in the form of a river or a sash of ribbon.
When I must live in a body (you see the problem here), I would rather

blend with trees, cast shadows, branch out in forms that shiver in wind—
mimic nature's means of invisibility. Water-borne I was, and so to be rock,

to be earth, to be mass—to make heat & friction—to have particles that come
together to form something stronger than myself, is to be sure, to be lodged, to be

a force. Come now, take shape, I hear myself whisper—advice I barely heed—
impertinent when I must be, stubborn in the ways of weedroots & river currents.

How long can one live in the woods of the elusory, and not starve for want
of definition? Come now, follow these tracks, I hear, winding my way along

the trail that will lead me back. One foot drifting out in front of the other.

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Copyright © 2011 Jody Rambo All rights reserved
from Tethering World
The Kent State University Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission