Things That Are Very Still

There is a kind of magic in things that are very still.

Things that don’t move at all.

Things that make you stare.

Things that are just there,

Surrounded by a silent call.

______________

Like footprints in the snow that aren’t supposed to be there,

Like a portrait of a woman who died long ago,

A frozen frame of time, that you’ve disrupted,

Yet no matter how hard you try, can never be a part of.

______________

Like chairs and potted plants,

And chess pieces scattered across the table-top.

Things that are about to fall over,

Yet always because of some mysterious force, do not.

_______________

I am an intruder, forgive my trespassing,

I know not the language that you speak.

For I breathe, and move and live,

Unlike you, who simply thinks.

_________________

Thinks about me, thinks about you,

Smiling secretly through it all,

Thinks of things that are just there,

Not really knowing what to do.

________________

But what I think the chairs,

The sofas the plants,

What they know,

Is that

Stillness

Is

The

Way

To

Go.

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