I am delighting in the distant thunder
waves, the sound of water slipping
back into itself and tumbling through
individual stones, the ones at the surface
that care to be polished in the white
churn and sparkling out at
a glance from the sun, or any random
being passing by for that matter, eyes
drawn to the grindings and
shifting swirls, so continuous it becomes
the air, a pulsing breath, the so-hum
of life, in to and out of
view, existence, sound-scapes reflecting
back into itself, and passing through
any being, drawn, his or her
mind finding it still
silence
or a distraction
whatever passed, it is delightful still
