Each Thing Measured by the Same Sun

Nothing to tell. Nothing to desire.

A silence that is not unhappy.

Who will guess I am not

backing away? I am pleased

every morning because the stones

are cold, then warm in the sun.

Sometimes wet. One, two, three days

in a row. Easy to say yes and no.

Realizing this power delicately.

Remembering the cow dying on the ground,

smelling dirt, seeing a mountain

in the distance one foot away.

Making a world in the mind.

The spirit still connected to the body.

Eyes open, uncovered to the bone.