Wise, not necessarily
in the things she says
but
in the way she bears herself.
And what does that mean,
wise?
There are a few things
she keeps in view, being
tactful about them.
Strategically so?
Not really. She
rarely sits down
and concentrates
on the name and number of them.
So how does
she recognize one of those
intelligible bruises
when the combustible zigzag
of people triangulates
the plain-born fact of one?
Intuition. Antennae
that grow out of her own
mind's history
brush against them. Instead of
bumping into them wholesale,
she waits for them to pass
and lets herself
get calmly palmed along
in their wake.
Avoiding the
messiness of collision?
No, undermining the
importance of it. The
barely audible ability
of old style wisdom:
take not where you leave not
but with no hands and fewer words,
give.
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