dislodged a thousand years

to name a rock "jagged" in the midst of an avalanche
as countless others just like it tumble down,
or to discern the "unique" ice crystal in the mass formed on a lake
among an unending matted crust,
is as inadequate as maintaining hold of a pencil in a hurricane -
for it is sent spinning, and soon departs, from the clutch of one's hand.

​yet, 
when the rumbling of falling rocks has ceased
and the ice has melted revealing smooth waters,
and the air becomes calm, void of a hurricane,
peace and stillness grab hold of your shoulder, lunge in front of you, and demand:
"We Are Now Present! Listen."

locating another pencil in the debris,
while peace and stillness hover nearby,
is deceivingly easy.
but now, what will you do with it?

peace and stillness provide unending paper
but materials were never an issue, not even in the storm

frustration comes in attempting naming
since jagged rocks are only a memory,
and clear moving water is visible for miles,
and the air cannot even coax a lose piece of straw into a somersault

because try as one might
the storm that could not be fathomed when succumbed to
is no longer
and to write about it once past
seems silly or conceited,
at worst metaphorical.

though truth worms through the tower of bricklayers' handiwork,
when messiness is allowed,
and whispers:

"jagged is a moment to which everyone succumbs.
we all, though at times hidden beneath an icy veneer, melt.
and, despite being occasionally frenzied in spirit, settle.
such rotations bring us to where we are today
and each winding messy trek is substantial enough 
for pencil to meet paper.”

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