Unforgiven, 54X108, John Brosio
I pursue the art of stillness,
the eye a litany of movement
to match the rise and fall of chest.
Thoughts pile up, waiting
for activation, a word, a phrase
that fall into oblivion
as I cast my ego into
the candle’s flame.
Imagine a feather sliding down the wind,
a slow wave soothing a wet beach,
the faint blue spiral of incense smoke,
the sounds of her sleeping.
A pulse at my forehead
and the pause is closed –
life moves on again.