the heart of motion is stillness

a woman holds
a worm
in her palm.

the worm
moves slowly,
its segmented body.

i look at it

or delight.

her palm
is lined

it is dry
and calloused.

i look at her
for a long time.

with neither
nor delight.

a bell shaped flower droops on its thin green stem, still totally enclosed in on itself. its flower still just a thought.

Published by Zak

an intertidal island in an ocean of impermanence.

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