Put some space around your story.
The sky.
A wilderness of blue encircles
every storm.
Why resist the whirl
and chatter of the mind?
Just stop believing it.
This tale of lack and sorrow
is time past,
but the space you hold around it
is always now.
The journey of a seed into its fruit,
how far the ocean goes
to embrace a lost wave,
where the robin finds a galaxy
to shape her nest in April:
intimacy tastes
of unfiltered distances.
You too could fathom stillness,
fill the hollow in each cell
of your flesh,
the star-strewn vacuum in each atom
with delicious inhalation.
What is real?
An ancient Presence,
pulse of repose, deepening abyss
of honeyed silence.
Drown here
in the sweet secret well
between breasts.
Friend, do it while you're still on earth.
This hidden work
replenishes the loam
and nurtures many souls.
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