“Knowing, Doing”

Flounder clouds in mackerel sky
Shed rainbow scales as they swim by
I’d love to share the sight, but I –
I don’t know what I’m doing.

Birdsong swells the morning air
With joy and hope and cure for care.
I wish that I could write you there.
I don’t know what I’m doing.

The scent of flowers, burning bright
From petals spread at end of night.
If only you could share delight.
I don’t know what I’m doing.

The words are there; I watch them flit
Around my head. They just won’t sit
Down on my page. I’m done. I quit.
I don’t know what I’m doing.

In the calm, resigned to peace,
A phrase lights on my heart, the least
Light start of words unleashed.
Not knowing but still doing.

Sometimes the poems are more “me” than others. This might be one of those.