Balance is for the highway.
I live on her hillside. I chew on her 

grass whenever I can center her,
whenever I can stop my own body

from being packed up in the suitcase
of the day. I carry my calves 

around just in case it’s time to climb 
her to fall all around her again.

Balance is for the highway. Why 
would I ever choose such a common 

motion, that takes me away from her?
Why would I not be silly beside her?

Steady is for the violence of a calendar.
I don’t even know where we are.