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