Linger

Only cool beneath these fingertips

and beneath the flesh of my hands.

Only a soft tickle of breath inside my nose

always and over and over again.

When I look up, sunlight is licking

the grey and brown trees and a pleasing

light light blue passes between the green.

I have seen this panorama every day.

Needles. Branches. Rock. Sky.

Maybe this time,

Maybe now 

I’m in the 

now

I will 

just feel it.

Air expanding my lungs.

A rainbow of prayer flags swinging

fluttering

between the saplings.

Everything is happening and

nothing

is how the now feels.

Nothing but cool

and warm air

and the less

and the less

I say the better.

Winter yard

hard cold soil

no snow.

Keep going back to the breath.

Keep landing there in your diaphragm.

BE.

Reverse your vision.

Stare into the back of your eyes.

Be here, empty.

Be here, present.

Drawing air there into my windpipe.

Cool fingers.

Linger.

Longer.

Try as I might to hold onto them,

I must lose all my beloved words

to go beyond them,

to feel what I have already heard.