A service to self
or that of others?
as i stand and contemplate the mountain before me
wondering how i get through this
without losing my rags
and shredding what resistance i have to its reflection
losing steam and will as i press on.
i lean into the back of the board
feeling its steadiness below my hands
as i glide and feel the heat rise
that smoothes the creases that unfold
the unwilling pile before me
folding contouring it to my will and need
until my work is done.
i look up and the disorderly heap
has ceded to the navigation of my hands
the flutterings of perspiration evident on my brow
as the only evidence that i have transcended
the internal reflections of disquiet
to a place of calm
a place of service