Stillness

In the quiet,

Scattered thoughts will run

Everywhere...

Until the breath brings one,

To stand still

For long enough to know

It has permission

To take root; to grow...

In tilled earth rich and dark. 

The scent...

Of silent rain 

As clouds consent

To nourish the sacred seed of muse;
A gift only the obtuse refuse

To provide with presence;

An attentive light.

May eyes bear witness

To such a sight.