At home, in your zone,
Snuggling softly simply for joy,
Minute to minute,
Day to day, in the delicate presence of being.
A strong sense of self,
Wilting forward to dip into sunlight,
Forgetting voids of helplessness,
Out of control, appearing like death.
You sit there motionless,
To soak and nourish like cucumber,
Fresh and crisp, an easy beginning,
How cold is it to start again, you wonder.
The invisible visibly haunts those rigid,
Stiff hands grope desperately,
Injuring fellow travelers,
Why are they here too, you wonder.