all resolution is slippery,
the firmer the foundation,
with pilings sent deep,
the swifter the undermining.

there is an inertia
in drawing breath that becomes
an immovable focus intent
on repetition alone, always
leading to itself; call it
the myth of life, for this
temporal existence stands
far from our true being.

so says the sage, planting crops
so says the priest, spinning comfort
so says the banker, theatre tickets in hand
so says the poet, eyeing his words
so says the parent, with blind instruction

stand mute before your needs
awareness doesn’t amount to much,
nor does anything else.