the stirring up in all its forms
with which a busy day adorns
the fact and fiction of my heart
can leave me breathless with its scorn
awash in doubt, swiftly forlorn,
tossed in the air and torn apart.
by faith, I reach for solid ground,
I rest a while where all is sound
and agitation soon departs.
Reading about tetrameter in Mary Oliver’s Poetry Handbook, she mentioned how that meter can bring a sense of “agitation.” That word – and my desire to try writing specifically in tetrameter – brought about this poem. The accompanying photograph was made a few years ago when I was feeling more than a little agitated over the crowded state of my house. Thank you for reading!