I take my instruction from rivers,
My constancy from the weather.
I endlessly catalogue shadows by their song
And tremble before cracked mirrors.
It seems I fear endings more that anything else,
And the golden dust of victory’s wings.
This debris I accumulate for oracles,
And read meaning into what has gone.
The light of life is an unbearable weight,
Longing so long for irresponsibility.
Silence ye your ghosts
So that you might hear a simpler melody.
You are a moment’s dust gathered
Around each slow breath.
Savour stillness.
There is no war other than this.
Stretched between joy and sorrow
Is where you grow strong.
Attaining emptiness
The world can fill and empty
And fill again.
—
Beautiful