morning poem
chase me brother round and round
let’s get lost until we’re found
the child on her rising swing
loses touch of heavy things
what do we say to those who play?
those who dance? those you lay?
asleep! are we who rest and know
there’s nowhere to be, there’s nowhere to go
—
muir beach, jan 2025
notes: the final line of this poem is inspired from tara brach’s meditations, listened to many years ago.