In the Quiet

In those molecular spaces
Between business and pleasure
In the tiny, darkened crevices
We miss between word and deed
I find a respite of sorts.

Here I crawl into myself,
Assuming yoga postures
That ball me up into a dot,
Warp me into a blur,
Create from my mass
A creature unseen and unheard,
A being silent, yet wild,
So I can breathe and think
More slowly, with deliberation
And that rare thing called pause.

In the quiet I hide from myself
To find that core of determination
Once more, to assay the world,
Shape my words, weave the images,

Call the spirit from the stone,
Conjure movement of shadow
And play of light,
Whisper of breeze
And roar of fire,
Sibilant hiss of water, draw
Silence from Earth's molten core.

In the quiet I am. Just am.
In the quiet time's nervous hands
Fall away and are lost,
The days and nights merge
Into a single stream of twilight.
The sands blow across my desert.
The waves crash upon my shore.
The leaves of my forest rustle
In poetry and song. I am. Just am.

Uncurling, unfurling the shivering leaf
Of consciousness, green and wet with dew,
I depart my haven and stretch out again
Upon a world made new
By momentary absence
From the moment, the now, the here
That presses in on all sides like a wall-trap.
I regain composure, humanity, purpose.

I return as if from a far sojourn:
Welcoming all the demands of the noise.