Saturday, July 16, 2005

Be Still, Listen to Nothing

by Zinta Aistars

The murmurs subside.
For a moment, a moment only:
stillness returns,
the heart slowing
into a molasses comfort,
sticky sweet, slow, swimming
in its own dark sugar.
Even the breeze curls
into its nest, circling
upon itself, tail tucked in,
ears folded back
against a warm fuzzed skull.

Even the eyes close,
unseeking and dry,
rolling in towards hidden places
where the beasts tease demons,
where their war games collide,
but for now, now only,
they sit prissing and preening,
leaning into each other
to nab the occasional flea,
a gracious nitpicking
of each other’s thickened hides.

Listen: silence.
All is at rest.
No weeping, no mourning,
no ashes rubbed on a pale forehead,
no breast beating or bawling,
no sackcloth bellyaching.
Unquestioned but welcomed,
life becomes a simple thing—
a hand held open,
a sweet fruit placed within.

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