We each have one, made over a lifetime
of the empty moments in between, when
everything is still and complete, each a
clear bead strung on the invisible chain
of our experience.
I’m thinking of the long silence after
we talked for months about what it’s
like to be alive.
Or the time in winter when the snowy
pines were creaking and swaying a
hundred feet up like the eye of the
earth opening slightly.
Or the time in early fall when you
were pinching a pot in the sun
and our dog was chewing on a stick
and I started to cry.
And the moment I woke from surgery
too soon and my soul had to decide
which way to swim.
And sometimes, when the wind sweeps
the next task from my mind, I am
returned to the moment before I
was born: floating with a brief sense
of all there is, just as I was ushered
into the world with our need to
find that feeling between us.