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 us
is that we’ve ceased to need..
No comments:
Post a Comment