“When appearing and disappearing disappear, then this stillness is bliss.” – Mahaparinirvana-sutra
Standing still. This inclination. Time. To.
Clouds hover on the horizon. A man slides low past sunflowers.
It is too hot
to sweat. Heat sinks. We stand.
Standing . Still.
Standing in the highest light.
The light does not move. Hoisted up by sky.
We pause. At maximum tilt. At the extreme edge.
We pull. Back to the other.
Moment. One more.
Different and same. And goes on.
Poem copyright Dana Lisa Young 2011
(Photo credit: The Wandering Angel on Flickr)