Shyness ...

What's delicate is             dangerous.

If it can flinch,   has teeth,    holds pain.

Everything, imbalanced—             sad, worried,

Hurt—                        can topple,         startle,      maim.

Look in:                                                  we sing songs of peace, but

                                                            Curse what interrupts our swaying.

We hum sweet words inside,                                                           but then

                                                                We're saying – outside – saying

                                     “That fool doesn't know how to listen right,”

And                    “What an ass, to let his turmoil show at us.”

And seldom 

                    “Here's my example, along your way,”

Or 

                “I too have felt unhelpably furious.”

                                    Everyone with stories 

                                        has a choice to make:

                                            Between small truths 

                                                         and large holes;

         Between               touching what's here 

                                                   and simply being with,

   Or                staring at and falling into nothings 

                                                                – mind, then soul.

                                                         I fell on the trail today, 

                                                            pulled my high-back,

                                            Stood up {scapula!!!}panging; 

                                                  needing to use my voice –

                                                And there was this child 

                                   who did not help me stand up,
              whose eyes were trained on my lips. 

                          So there's this choice: …