This is the heartbeat
Of custody.
A DOWSING MEDITATION
In the morning air there are not many sounds
Besides the steady
tap, tap, tap, and creak
Of my dowsing rod.
There is a lot of ground to cover
And goodness knows
My path is not the most efficient
As I spiral anticlockwise
In meditation
Hearing only the
tap, tap, tap, and creak
A man stops to watch me
As I pace in dwindling circles
Wordless in our respective trances
Beholden to the metronome.