I wrap my hands in reassurance
And strike the trapped sand of my temperament
Until it spins beneath its chains
And I can revel in unknowing again
As beads of sweat slide down my skin
Raindrops against the shutters to my soul
I close my senses and become rhythm
That my self may be lost in the spaces between beats
And return upon each impact
Every blow a prodigal child
An arm’s reach their journey
Stumbling across satisfaction
I swap the freedoms of the tools that found it
With those of my mind
Returning to the world refreshed,
Ready for whatever may come my way
Until such time as a few more rounds
Need be fed to the flames
benjam1@stolaf.edu
