Not One

 

Better than a thousand days

of disciplined sitting 

is ten minutes

of surrendered prayer,

one moment of 

unquenchable praise,

a single breath

of wonder

if you have been touched

by the madness 

of Grace. 

Assume that this

exhalation is the last,

and you are on the slope

of a final heartbeat.

Befriend entropy.

Fall into the groundless.

Rising only by surrender, 

be a wing

that glides on gravity,

never quite knowing

how the melody is made 

from listened silences.

Perhaps there are more

than a million reasons 

for you to be unhappy,

but not one of them 

is this

apple blossom.