Movement by Marguerite Costigan

In those moments when I am most restless, when my knees keep bouncing and my thoughts flit about, nothing is wrong. In fact — according to Marguerite Costigan — everything is as it should be. I can be at peace with my restlessness.


Photo Courtesy Brian Landis

Movement

by Marguerite Costigan

We who can move, must move.
We are not planted
like trees, only our leaves astir, like hair
flung into oceans of air;
only our branch-tips bending in the slow
shifting of time and light.
We are not anchored like mountains,
feeling only
the split and peel of our stony skins,
sloughed off by gravity
downslope, downhill, into
buried rubble and scree.

We are not founded on stone
like buildings or monuments, like
the Great Ideas mapped-out in minds,
like Nations, like Mathematics,
like laws and dogma,
like vows and promises.

Yet look, close-in,
at the wavering rims, the edges,
the orbiting cores
of all these things:
We are speeding and they are slow,
but we all are moving, moving
we all must move, to feel, to know,
to be in Time at all
we must move, move,
to continue into being.


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