Enough

A raindrop shaking
the forests and mountains.

A brittle leaf sketching

indecipherable runes
whose meaning could save us
on the surface of a still pond.

If you only knew the way
the Father finger pens the Book
of the Impossible,

this moment would not be other

than it is.

Just to be alive is not enough,

it is more than enough.

You are mud, after all.

Your doing is the shimmer of
mirage in the stillness of the sky.

This breath caresses
a velvet meadow in your lungs,

making silver lilies grow

on tributaries of blood.

Do you really imagine

it's all a reward for your

tilling and sowing?

No, friend, it's a gift

from the same Lover who
planted the sun in your heart.