With a heightened perception,
I observe the sensation
of my thumb on my fingers
as I rub them together,
the clock ticking away at 4:45 before me...
There are blue ink marks on each finger
and the air tastes of stale coffee.

Everything feels very slow,
and I find myself,
once again,
waiting to go home,
waiting for the clock to tick to 5:00.
Everything so slow,
with nothing to do except wait.

I tried to be quiet,
but the less I spoke,
the less I heard,
the less I watched
in the external world,
the louder it all became.
My head pounding
with thoughts
I’d long ago forgotten.
They thudded and clunked
around my head
until I thought
I might go deaf.

Silence is the loudest
noise I’ve ever heard.

The dewy-eyed moon smiles upon me.
It knows I've returned home.
The mountains lined with termination dust
hark the ending of summer.
Soon the clusters of evergreens
will be coated in snow,
just as they were last winter.
The snow falls flake by flake.
It's in no rush to hit the ground;
it will melt once it does.

The same type of peace
befalls my quiet life.
Slowly, I return to old ways.
Like footprints in the snow,
the tread of future days
looks much like those of the past.

We will ask the world,
Am I good?
Am I a good person?

And the world will shrug its shoulders
and shake its head.
Who's to say what good is?
Is not the pursuit enough? it will reply.

We will ask the universe,
Am I loved?
Do the ones I love, love me, too?

And the universe will shrug its shoulders
and shake its head.
Why does it matter?
Is not the act of giving love enough? it will sigh.

We will ask the infinite,
Why am I here?
What is the point of it all?

And the infinite shall remain quiet,
waiting for us to find our own
lackluster answer to a half-hearted question.

There are quiet moments
in the cracks of my life -
driving to work, waiting in line,
floating on skates around a frozen lake,
daydreaming about nothing in particular.

To live in these moments forever,
with my body and mind
so at ease that nothing
much bothers them.
So quiet I’d remain forever,
listlessly dawdling my time away.

There is a greatness in the world
so fantastic, I can feel it
in the tiniest of moments -
in a strong cup of black coffee;
in the snow-covered mountains
so large and ominous,
it's as though they float;
in one of your gentle smiles or caresses;
in the small breeze of the clean air
that graces me each morning
as the harsh cold outside my door meets me.

There is a beauty in the world
so overwhelming,
I am sure I will never be able
to describe all its wondrous facets,
but at least the world is kind enough
to allow me to try.

Exceedingly underwhelmed,
I found myself in awe
of my own vacant stupidity.
Oh, how we often
fail to grow wiser,
and instead lose
our clear vision
with time,
the way the rain blurs
the window
yet cleans the air.