back to the place where each new day begins, but a little cleaner than before.
nothing changes, except for the silence.
a whine from outside ignored, a rustle of movement heard, acknowledged.
it isn't the lack of speech, of noise, that is so alluring,
its the infinitesimal beat of a heart muscle,
heard from inches away....
and that changes everything.
so back to the place where each new day begins,
to begin a new pursuit, with a second heartbeat.
and thats all it feels like: a heartbeat,
a blink from the face of time, or less.
just breathe, for what is extraordinary about this?
nothing at all, but here, it is unique in our minds,
and that's all that matters, just for the hour:
to become comfortable; and comfort does grow,
like a vine, entangling limbs spreading throughout all which it can reach,
learning, growing, customising to circumstance.
and a smile spreads from the mind and down,
to fingers and toes, lips, nose and eyes.
but for what?
that second heartbeat?
or what it represents?
who knows these days, but returning to regularity in life isn't the same,
it's a different regularity, the colours have shifted
- everything's brighter - faster, blurred.
fast red cars on winding roads, at the beginning, or the end.
back to the place where the day begins,
stretching out on linen, until the framework creaks
a scent remains, the only reminder of the day that has been.
so bury your face in it, and remember:
remember the smiles, the laughs, the whispers and the silence,
the depth of green eyes and the sound of a breath,
flecks of brown, a sense of age
all wrapped up in one single word: