Wherever we go, we find sanctuary
amidst the humming swarm of human beings
existing in inhumane proximity.
When the great enveloping world becomes
crass noise and humdrum havoc,
we designate a pocket state
of quiet, calm, and static.
Be it an iron-lioned cemetery
where the trees shed flaxen leaves,
and foxes lope between the crypts
as sunlight sinks at eve.
Or a lake lined by sturdy pines,
where geese in V’s test flight
and the water glows a rippling sheen
come each lamp-lit night.
If from nothing comes everything,
then from everything comes nothing.
This must mean
that from the creaking weight
of the world comes
only inner nullity.
And from the spaces in between,
these sanctuaries
comes vibrance, love,
and clarity.
pm poetry 