To

be

Still

by

Lauren

Camp

Sometimes you have to drive
through a river basin and a bracelet of cypress
to find the center of forgetting.
It is practical to be sitting here,
seeing down to acorns,
unknotting into the umbrella of each tree.
The sky has not fallen, not yet.
If you have to move to be still,
be satisfied by this.
Let the world offer the roughed-up edges
of a stacked wall, each stone talking
about what it cannot contain.
Rubbing the day against your small self,
you realize the pitch of water,
the crowning balm of lavender.
The sun settles sideways
on a field of seeded columbine;
the heart of June is the slope of dusk.
Sparrows and finches sing
on their absent-minded journey
past dandelion brush heads.
The red-leafed ash, lobelia and catmint
all gather nearby — in concentration,
not making a sound.
Lauren Camp – lauren@laurencamp.com

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