bashful

just outside the sunbeam
resting in the grey tones
and dust motes

at the back of the bottom
shelf gaze lowered taking 
new notes

I’m breathing in others’
light saving moments
for making words

wanting more than sorry
silence but my page is rarely
ever heard

thinking that the world
moves too fast for me
to contemplate

but standing still on
this dying hill can’t decide
my fate

so I’m slowing down
the tempo with every heavy
verse I find

then lighting up the handholds
for others who
are blind

by grabbing cans of
gasoline and setting signal
fires with my mind