Only the dirt knows 
the heart weight of news
a horse hoof on a single egg.

It is a lie that you are missing out
on something everyone else 
is doing, a great fabrication

that justifies all the churning
fetching forth, gaming gamely
in a zero sum ploy.

A blind hag once told me
only a cup and a half of grace 
exists to bless the world. 

Tender this notice that I
am anchoress of the back porch now
counter of ants and beetles

in retreat from exchanges
urgencies and agitations
a moment to moment poverty

of clammer and hush
of puny voices. As their chief,
I sink into stillness.

to walk toward nowhere
to drink without desire
to work for no gain

except this:  that I know I am 
faithless and callous
a handicraft of holy lack. 

and this is news to celebrate
a retreat from all battles
to sit on the chaise in the sun.