Perhaps it’s only when we stop and be still
that the world begins. Only when we cease
and rest do we see the paper-white moth,
the shiny droplets on the leaf, the bird
that drums on the hemlock trunk. Only then
do we taste the air and notice the wind,
glimpse the sun shafting through the cloud.
Perhaps it’s only when we’re still and at rest
that we allow the world to enter us.
And us the world.