the sun rests
on my hair on a
winter afternoon

hours fleeting
rushing into the
calm evening

not daring to
go inside subtracting
myself from grace

I keep my head down
bowed as I write between
letters my emotions

some poems
long to be gardens
or more likely lakes

enclosed and safe
ideal for thinking
suitable for letting go

where even silence
is guarded precious
embracing yet

leaving time out
somehow a small
palpitation held

between hands

it is a revelation
not one cicada
sounds the same

a butterfly sitting
by me admiring
something I lose

myself on such lightness
I use to tell children
to stop and to listen to

the songs  of
butterflies as
they nodded back

it is so
that every morning
I go about pressing the foot
on the same path that’s how

habits are formed good ones

I’ve learned in between

steps to make treasure of
observation new revelations
as they come blossom

in presence

I pick up words
as small daisies
on a spring field

careful to hold them
in small bunches
never as beautiful

as when first spotted
a memory of wonder
blushing as they close

around their meaning
covering the heart
shy of a truth near

enough for our dull spirit

to remember a note
or two

where the horizon
goes
horizontal

nothing to climb
and look down on

just a step over
looking at the other
side

and letting go

I notice the silence

not anymore the chirping
or the chatter of the wind

I notice the hummingbird
trying stillness by furious

flapping I stop engaging
myself I let go of my eyes

frantic grasping of letters
on a page putting the book

down where it was letting
my head as beheaded

falling too