Archaeology of Rest

a shard of pottery

sits in stillness

weathered, smooth

carbon burns speak

of its utility

once

after the tumult 

of kiln and corn

this is what 

the artifact knows

that it's not enough

to quietly negotiate

a patch of dirt

in a calm before the storm

but to navigate the calmness

while the storms hurl 

their tempers off the cliff

the lost antlers are agitated

reminiscing their rutting days

as bone-mounted swords

the way rusty ploughshares

weep their rust in soft rains 

remembering old glories 

of battled blood

lost antlers would be better

served by observing the 

silent polygon of discarded clay

who has let it all go 

and sets an example 

of the patient art of discovery

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Weekly Scribblings #35: The Joy of Rest