The mystic one


Swans glide on sheet water
Skaters swing past smooth as glass
Friction. What’s that?
Oh yes. I remember.

Flow. That’s my nirvana.
To lose myself in the task.
To shake off dead weight thoughts
And float. Calm and soft.

Dousing could work. Of a sort.
Feel my way, listen hard.
Tremors are, after all, vibrations
What’s their sound I wonder

I have tributaries.
They vary, tidal.
The heavy doubts drag my pleasures out of their tracks
I put up storm barriers

Gravity is the Queen
Always corners you
Flow needs a light touch
And a light heart
Worth a shot



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