A live branch rubs up against the stillness of the wind,
but nobody sees it that way.
The movement of the water is scratching
the riverbed’s back
but nobody knows it to be true.
I handed you my thought
and you spoke it as if it were yours.
How silly of me to resent what I’m thinking through you.
How I own anything
seems like leaving me little notes of blind self-permission
to dance without love as the music.
I can’t go away from here because it is so large
and I can’t come to here because it is so small.
Why have a here at all?
All of the experience of now is deja vu
since the original source of this
is senseless but available.
Sensing what happens is quite topical
but what is happening
really has no surface of observation but is.
Any thought that completes itself,
dies into the immersion
and is heard from no more.
There is an elephant in the room
and the elephant is the room in the elephant.
Nothing has a how.
Only inquiry has a how as its how.
Now has no consequences
that deliver us from now.
I am moved by your response,
is a further solicitation for us to be in time.
My shadow is hiding from the sun
to keep impressing me.