We’re comfortable breathing forms,
warming to our reflexes like friends:
nothing isn’t conscious, unconsidered –
nothing generously lends itself
to everything. Autonomic functions sing –
pumping heart and coursing blood
are full of choice – what we had thought
was mute turns out to have a voice.
Existence’ flood is sentient with intention:
held in its suspension, we proceed.
What reads as confidence in usis that we’ve ceased to need.