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words (breath) lead to thoughts (epiphany) that
we may not understand at first but sometimes (gasp) later lend greater
insight (moksha)
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Slow for the sake of flowers as they turn
Toward sunlight, graceful as a line of sail
Coming into the wind. Slow for the mill-
Wheel's heft and plummet, for the chug and churn
Of water as it gathers, for the frail
Half-life of spraylets as they toss and spill
For all that lags and eases, all the shows
The winding-downward and diminished scale
Of days declining to a twilit chill,
Breath quietly, release into repose:
Be still.
By, R.S. Gwynn
submitted by Trevor Calvert
