We are a circle
quietly surrounding life,
her precious impermanence.
Sacred few with tentacles that reach beyond;
those who have chosen to stay
in which to feel a mystery saturated with subtlety,
A surrender to the genius that is most familiar and simultaneously all its own.
Rise and fall.
This is the nature of all things.
To return to relief, or the absence of despair.
Seemingly not quite right.
Yet life in her exactness.
A mind will resist what she cannot tame.
Who said that things ought to be any other way?
sometimes miraculously according to some.
A home can be found
somewhere between earth and the cosmos.
A silence amongst us.
Certain words needn’t be murmured.
Understanding by way of attendance,
of listening to what will somehow be heard.
Being Human poetry