Take refuge in this moment.
One lightning bolt of wonder
through the heart of a child
incinerates ten thousand
books of philosophy.
All the speeches of politicians
burn to tasteless ash
in the diamond eye of a lover.
A wild mushroom springs
from the manure pile,
pungent as the breath
of a dark angel.
Stop all this talk
about “awakening”
and look at the moon
through the wing of a moth.
There is no war in this meadow.
Stars long to fall here
and become wild poppies
on an April morning.
Painting by Claude Monet
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