Keeping My
There is a rarified air—
One we all wish was more common—
Where the birds
Who sing clear
Make the sound of traffic
Harmonic
In the stillness of order
I hear the hush
Of a silence
Profound and melodic
Without the violence of thought—
A shield
From the misery
Of a battle eternal fought—
Shifting plates, tectonic
A longness of a constant stream
Floating on butterfly wings
A whisper of gentle things
Wanting to be done
While the neediness for all else
Goes to a background
Where urgency melts
Into a warm yawn
Here, the beating
Of an anxious heart
Is submerged,
Exchanged for a sensual feeling,
Inviting ears to enjoy
And eyes to wander without seeing
Tasting the colors around instead
A gift of witnessing the beauty in a single moment dead
And birthing another
This air is mine
Because I longed for it
I cherished it
I yearned for its return
And when it is here
I know it is my true love
And a balm for what is burned.
To cast away
This air of peace—
This air of utter surrender—
Would be to throw out
Myself.
In this way
I keep My.