Suppose I Were Willing

 

Suppose I were willing

to be hollow,

to carry no tune of my own,

but to let the wind

find its way through me.

Not asking for truth,

not even light,

only

to be aligned

with whatever moves

without needing

to be known.

If I were earth,

might I yield to root?

If I were silence,

might I let something

speak

without voice?

I don't claim readiness —

but there's a stillness here

that doesn't resist.

A loosening.

If use were possible,

if use were needed —

perhaps

I could be

what is used.