when nothing comes, it’s an inhalation. drink.
nothing is the sea within which we are afloat.
says the autumn trees,
back to bones. again. and the way we started,
a simple spinal chord.
hidden inside is how I feel. word by word.
spaces are as much the music as are the notes.
no space, no music.
everything I see is a thread. connecting.
some come from me, some from you.
which ones are you?
when I first flew again after the 2001 collisions,
I recall, seated by the window, as I always am,
looking out, the silver rivers, brown hills,
dark grown lifting mountains.
every curve. every lift.
all this perfect beauty.
I recall the thought,
if You want my life right now, I have no complaint.
no fear. no doubt. only beauty.
can I contain that thought? right here? right now?
I’ll have to let you know.
can I see that in your face? just this near.
here’s one exercise. practice, you know.
to all you encounter, a simple pure acknowledgement,
repeat. without end.
One thought on “nothing much”