To Lie With Luck Again

To lie with luck again

in the vital centre

where faith is had

like water – necessary and

always there.

        To speak to the familiar morning

in my own tongue that I learned

from solitude and watching squirrels.

        To step on the back of a scorpion,

not feeling its tail writhe and crush.

        To hold a nickel in my hand

and let it be enough.

        To walk on tall grass and leave

my mark.

        To not be the fig tree holding back

my bloom, or look on others as poison to my tastebuds

or as a slingshot to the singing lark.

        To dance as a child, unaware

of the mirror, catching on fire

like a deer in powerful flight.

Copyright © 2000 by Allison Grayhurst

Source: To Lie With Luck Again

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