There is a moment
before your world ends
and after you thought
it would that everyone
takes a breath, deep
and quiet. You hear
birds chirp and kids play.
It breaks your regular
existential delusion
and nudges you back
to here, the place you
never left, your home
now and always,
shared with beasts not
of burden and mirages
as real as you, or more.
You are more than
what worries you
but less than the world
in which you reside—
you live in it and it in you,
a perpetual, gentle reminder
that you are here and here
is good and you are, too.
You are a note
waiting to be played
in a song no ear
has ever heard.