Content waits for me
for my compulsive
finger touch to flick
and scroll on and on
and on and on with
plans and predictions,
someone’s predilections
there is forever more
calling for me on my feed
but what I have
outside the door
before the light has lit
this hungry world
and its appetite for
more and more
is to be content
in what I have
in who I am
in where I stand
content in cool
predawn air
with no plan
for that was done
yesterday and
waits on the bench
with the rest of
yesterday now shed
like a snake skin
like rumpled covers
on the bed
I sleep, I dream and
I am fed
before a morsel
has touched my lips
it dawns on me
I dawn on it
at break of day
old habits broken
and all without a word
read or spoken
I am content.
