Feels like sitting on a hip

at the edge of a pond,

circling a couple of fingertips in warm

greening water,

waiting. . waiting. .

waiting for the world to slow down.

But it won’t.

And you know it’s not going to.

Those singular fingers dipping

in the pool, though,

connect you to something sane, a rhythm

echoing through this swirling cosmos

of which you are part,

of which you are made.

While these days and nights

and days and days and nights and nights

are nothing short of the inside of a blender,

find where you and the water meet.

Somewhere within the movement, touch

and endless noise,

a stillness–

pull from that.