Stillness
Rain fell last night
Blood of Mother Earth
Everything is shiny on the surface
But the air,
the space between,
is milky gray
Quiet
As I sit,
the candle flame is two
in the double-paned window.
Why am I not two?
Where is my Self?
A brown leaf of the post oak wobbles
One tiny branch of the willow oak
moves tentatively
as if a Being is touching it.
My squirrel moves in jerks
stopping, sitting, eating, hoarding.
All else is still.
I hear the wind
blowing softly from my CD
but not a sound from outside.
Winter is coming.
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