Standing on the precipice of something kinetic
the damper of inertia is a chain around my left big toe,
a nylon noose gastric bypass shrinking my gut
and pulling tight with every inch I move forward. 
The anticipation is like the winter duvet
left too long on the bed.
After a while spring blows
and the green tree pollen 
dusts the car windshield 
and all I can do is stand still,
fearing everything outside.  
But I must exercise,
I must fill sacks with soil,
plant seeds the size of grains of sand
that shift as I walk through them.