Imbolc

Imbolc

I stop lying to myself
about what is going to grow.

I gave attention to ideas,
to silence I dressed up as meaning,
to absence I called potential.

That part is mine.
No blame to pass around.

This season is not for forcing.
It is for clearing ground,
pulling energy back
and putting it where work is done.

Fantasy builds nothing.
Attention does.

The light returns slowly.
So do I.