An oblong stone, fallen from a cloud,
strikes the sides of a river bridge.
Where there's a mousehole, the opposite wall
releases and one-word flies through the open window.
If I step one half-inch leftward, dreams are another place.
Two lifetimes cross at an instant, two times and storylines.
Naturally, natural, not sitting still,
not awake sleeping on a couch,
there's coming and going.
It really is no miracle at all.
Whenever I try, I am nothing.