nothing much

 
 
when nothing comes, it’s an inhalation.   drink.

nothing is the sea within which we are afloat.

         bubbles, perhaps?
 
 
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,
 
 
 
         yes
 
 
 
         repeat.   without end.
 
 
 

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