There is more pleasure, today,
in the taste of the tea. Blacker,
somehow, as if to sip it is to allow
the night to escape its boundaries
and fill the inside of this woman
with quieter thoughts. It is not easy
to slow down, though it is easier
than I thought. I notice that I am noticing
things, the shifting of light in the leaves,
for instance, and the effortless mount
and collapse of the lungs in the chest.
And I want to praise them, these dancing
layers that unfold for us when we’re still.
How easy it would be to disappear,
I think, and for a short while I do lose myself
to the rise and fall, to the shimmer,
the shadow, to the low hum of the kitchen
that continues even when I am not busy there.
In this stillness, there is not the sense
that life is passing me by. Rather the sense
that there are many worlds happening
inside every minute. That all is opening.
And it is late summer. That the earth
is charged with change. And I am wholly in it.