No Story

This morning there is no story
to tell myself how it was
what it will be or won’t ever be
how the door will open
then close a while
and so I will choose to speak
when the silence no longer heals
but aches for rhythm and pulse
to speak the words empty
to listen to clear out
the clutter of words for space and rest
from the story I thought it was
the story I gave away that couldn’t
contain the space I must tend to
minding the new ground the broken ground
where an old way had to go another
way for this story to begin.

Anne Marie Vivienne