Slow. slower
so infinitely sluggish
so much the earthly turn
would seem to simply vanish
'till bluebirds freeze mid-flight
like crystallizing salt
'till streams will cease their aqueous murmur
their rapids,  gleaming glass
'till a heartbeat will forget
that it was once a rhythm

Still
in this absence of the motion
the tingle of the scruff just hints
the constant frolic of the air
as wings slide towards it, oh so slowly
the turmoil of the water rushing nowhere
to break on shores as far as ever
the boiling of the blood in veins
as bustling as busy city streets
this ruckus
held in the gap between two moments

Now fast. faster
more swift than any measure
until a single blink
will span entire seasons
'till mountains rise and fall
like tides during a storm
'till the moon is but a brushstroke
across the night sky whole
'till all of history is shrunk
to but a single point

Yet
in all of this commotion
no thing can separate from other
how height of peak and depth of valley
merge to the same plateau
how night and day together blend
into an everlasting twilight
how all that we were and will be
condenses, like it never was
in this silence
where time is crammed and threats to rapture

Isn’t it wonderful?
all things stand and move, still and in motion
and in the gap that separate the times
we are, like senior toddlers
just opening our eyes

Choose two mountains
And split one to a pair of hills
A hill divides in two to mounds
One mound is halved to coupled knolls
One knoll, it is but boulders two
a boulder breaks to stone, and stone
a stone comprise two pebbles
and a pebble is two shards
one shard you snap in two whole grains
and now
pick up the grain
and face it, eye to eye
and the shard that wasn’t halved
place a fist length
to the back, and to the right
and the pebble just a foot away behind
and all the rest, this way aligned
to the right, and to the back
in ever widening gaps
up to the mountain that was left
way in the distance, scraping skies
look
a grain, a shard, a pebble
a stone, a rock, a knoll
a mound, a hill, a mountain
are all the same
all woven in repeated pattern
defined out of themselves
therefore, all mountains
depending on perspective
are just grains

Now
Take your aspirations

We fight without fighting
moving through the house
like air currents
hot and cold
stroking the walls as we go
convecting dust
between corners

You are a stern monolith
piercing through
the cracked floor tiles
the outcome of
a lingering tremor

I slip between the sounds
poured into the house
through the window
eroding my way around
you
as silent as the growing grass

Until you lay in bed
and I join
several hours later
measuring your rhythmic breath
by the deflection of the shadows
fluttering my gaze
upon your turned back
hoping that you feel
just how much
I love you

-
I am a tourist
in a crowd of pilgrims
picking up pebbles and broken glass
from the winding trodden road.
Fallacy and emptiness
are heavy in my pockets
hinting that i face
the center of gravity,
a prolonged paralysis,
and that the bounties of the journey
are beyond the reach
of those who climb.
Perhaps,
I just lay down for a moment
spread my hands across the ground,
and latch onto the shadows of the passersby.
I wonder
if I hold on strong enough
I just might
fall into the sky
-

Keep sanity close during this

when the path from the bed to the couch
took the shape of shuffling feet
like trodden animal trail through the grass
from the lair, to the waterhole, and back

when the hand reaching towards the fridge
knows the full weight of the door
better than the arms of nurses know
the weight of the newly born

when the pots, and table, and sink
fill up, and empty out, and fill up
just as waves and tides follow
the periodic pulling of the moon

when day and night, and night and day
and night and night and day too
and not today, and is tonight and
not

and you
the backbone of existence
a hidden picture on display
you are,
there
when all the dishes stack to dry
and the refrigerator sighs
and the couch cool down
and the bed is full
and the hug is warm
and sanity
kept close