We think
Still air forebodes
Hearts slow, lungs expand,
Chests heave and waists strain.
The interior world is shut
Antennae point outward
Sweeping horizons
– for what?
Just movement
Anything
Still water conceals
And obscures currents
And a curious rumble
A single pebble
Still souls open
To a single moment
A dimensionless point
A self unraveling
exiles child 